


Of Steel and Smoke

by Confused_q



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confused_q/pseuds/Confused_q
Summary: The coloring of her mother, a Summer Islander. The steel gray of her hair, a bastardry of Old Valyria, Lyss maybe. The heart of a Stark, the mind of a Tully, and the mouth of the Blackfish who raised her....An AU where Robert died at the Trident and the rebellion lost. The ravens carried fake and wrong news, mistakes were made, and the new King Rhaegar must deal with the fallout.OC X Multiple pairings, mainly Oberyn MartellGeorge R.R. Martin and D&D own the books and the show, respectfully. I only own the plot of this story, my characterizations of of existing characters, and the ones I've made up.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	1. Valar Morghulis

**The dead could only speak through the mouths of those left behind, and through the signs they left scattered behind them.**

**-** Robert Galbraith,  _The Cuckoo's Calling_ \- 

Lupita Nygongo as _Sumara of the Summer Isles_

_The Secret Mother_

_"I know I am dying. My brother shall have to raise this girl, he will be a good father to her, this I know. I pray our brave men did not go off to die, I dream they come home to us soon."_

Chiwetel Ejiofor as _D'wande_

_A Good Pirate_

_"I only take from bad men."_

_"And what, give to the poor?"_

Adelaide Kane as _Lyanna Stark_

_The Wolf Girl_

_"Beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time."_

_"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert. You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath."_

Aiysha Hart as _Elia Targaryen (Martell)_

_A Gem of the Rhyonish Sun_

" _Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know Rhaegar was very fond of her."_

Nestor Carbonell as _Ser Lewyn Martell_

_The Dead Prince_

_A Man of the King's Guard_

_"He should have been in the Red Keep with her. Elia would have been cared for and protected if they had let my Uncle stay with her. "_

_"My uncle always said that it was the sword in a man's hand that determined his worth, not the one between his legs."_

" _I never had the honor to know Prince Lewyn but all agree that he was a great knight."_

Henry Cavil as _Robert Baratheon_

_The Would-Be King_

_"They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war."_

_"_ _Robert ... He is in my dreams as well. Laughing. Drinking._ _Boasting. Those were the things he was best at. Those, and fighting. I never bested him at anything."_

_AN_

_So, this book has two sets of face claims because the dead are just as important as the living. And there may be some flashbacks here and there._


	2. Valar Dohaeris

**'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.'**

-William Shakespeare, _As You Like It-_

Raven Lyn as _Syrana Rivers_

_The Mutt_

_"What is she? Her mother a Summer Islander, but is she Stark, Tully, Arryn even? Who does she fight for?"_

_"Who ever she wants"_

Sam Hueghan as _Patrek Mallister_

_The Better Option_

_"You're as fishy as they come, little trout. You were raised in the mountains of the Vale, the snow of the North, but you swim in_ our _rivers. You're ours to claim, and we've been waiting for a good reason anyway."_

Clive Russell as _Brynden Tully_

_The Blackfish_

" _I raised you, we raised you. Nobody else can take that away. You turned out better than anyone would have thought. You're doing a hard thing for a good reason, I got half a mind to crown you for it._ "

Sean Bean as _Eddard Stark_

_The Quiet Wolf_

_"I am sorry, sweet girl. There is nothing we can do, save for war. And I don't think we'd have as many on our side. Nor am I the young man I used to be."_

_"You are an honest and honorable man, Lord Eddard. Ofttimes I forget that. I have met so few of them in my life ... When I see what honesty and honor have won you, I understand why."_

Tom Hiddleston as _Rhaegar Targaryen_

_The Good Dragon_

_"I_ _remember your mother well, It is a shame she did not get to raise you herself. I always meant to claim you, and far sooner than this. You're paying for my misgivings, do not disappoint them."_

Harry Lloyd as _Viserys Targaryen_

_The Spoiled Prince_

_"Marrying into the Dornish didn't get us very far the first time. You won't let me have Dany, I still think you're saving her for yourself. But she's pretty enough; my heirs would be too tan, but they'd still be silver-haired and more dragon than yours were."_

Naveen Andrews as _Manfrey Martell_

_The Eyes and Ears_

_"You know nothing of her and she knows precious little of you. Perhaps, if you got to know her instead of sending spies and sulking with whores, you might find yourself in a less foul mood."_

Pedro Pascal as _Oberyn Martell_

_The Red Viper of Dorne_

_"We must obey the king, hmm? He dines with their killers and offers us nothing in return. Why must we wait any longer?"_

_"The man's infamous, and not just for poisoning his sword. He has more bastards than anyone can count, and beds with boys as well."_

Alexander Siddig as _Doran Martell_

_The Peacemaker_

_"This may yet be good for you, for us. She is more Tully than Targaryen, and they have as much reason as we for grief."_

_"Words are like arrows, Arianne. Once loosed, you cannot call them back."_

Indira Varma as _Ellaria Sand_

_The Bastard of Hellholt_

_"She is a child and not worthy of you, my love. They treat us all like playthings, we should make them all pay."_

_"Shae had told her that this Ellaria worshiped some Lysene love goddess. "She was almost a whore when he found her, m'lady," her maid confided, "and now she's near a princess." Sansa had never been this close to the Dornishwoman before. She is not truly beautiful, she thought, but something about her draws the eye."_

Alba Galocha as _Arianne Martell_

_"Do you see the white [star], Quentyn? That is Nymeria's star, burning bright, and that milky band behind her, those are ten thousand ships. She burned as bright as any man, and so shall I. You will not rob me of birthright!"_

Sean Teale as _Quentyn Martell_

_"The hero sets out with his friends and companions, faces dangers, comes home triumphant. Only some of his companions don't return at all. The hero never dies, though. I must be the hero."_

_"That one is his father's son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful ... but not the sort to make a young girl's heart beat faster."_

Sophie Turner as _Sansa Stark_

_"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft... the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper."_

_"Is it all lies, forever and ever, everyone and everything?"_

The rest of the Game of Thrones characters as themselves

I might recast the Sand Snakes though


	3. The Setup

The event of my birth was not one of note. Most had gone off to war, my uncles included. Riverrun was almost empty, save for the adolescent Edmure and the newlywed and pregnant Catelyn Stark.

So when my mother nearly collapsed with labor pains, the whole castle knew.

It was a trying delivery, I’m told. Sumara of the Summer Isles did not make it through. 

How ironic that her brother was dying on the fields not soon after.

I am the only thing left of either of them. 

Catelyn took care of me while waiting for her father, uncle, and husband to return. And she prayed that they would.

Most tell me that it was a true shock when my mother came to visit Catelyn. She was as much a warrior as her brother; she had hoped to fight with them. And she was pregnant. Only her brother had known at the time. 

She had refused to tell anyone who the father was, leading me to be born a bastard, fatherless and motherless.

All of the rebelling keeps and those who had stayed silent all received the same message: The Trident was won. The castle had collectively sighed in relief, sons and fathers would be returning home.

No one knew it was a lie until those men did return home.

The Trident was won, that was true, but not by the usurper. It was a close call, people tell stories of how Robert and Rhaegar were locked in battle with each other. Some like to imagine what Westeros would be like if the Dragon Prince hadn’t ducked, if Robert’s war hammer crushed in his chest.

But it didn’t matter. Robert had died at the Trident. The victorious Rhaegar had allowed the rebels a choice: cease fighting and return home, swearing fealty to him over his father or stand and die a traitor.

Most were home within the month. 

Rhaegar started the slow march back to King’s Landing with the surviving leaders of the rebellion. It was when he reached the gates that he had found out what was done.

You see, the Battle of the Trident happened a month _ after _ someone had written that it was won. 

The North, Vale, Riverlands, and the Stormlands were all waiting for heroes to return home and begin celebrations. And under the belief that Robert Baratheon was now King, Tywin Lannister had marched his army to the Crownlands. 

It was only half way through the sacking of the city that the Lord of Casterly Rock was informed of the fallacy. But, the damage was done. His son had already slain Mad King Aerys, and his mad dog had already found his way to the Princess of Dorne.

Eddard Stark, in mourning over his friend, was horrified at the state of the city. Commoners dead in the streets, bouts of wildfire still burning, and the rumours of dead children. He did not stay long enough to see such a horror. He rode to find his sister.

Catelyn was shocked, to say the least, when her family had returned. Her uncle, Brynden came back first. He had only come back from the Trident, without his friend, to find that Sumara had died in childbed. He vowed to take care of the girl in honor of the family she had lost.

Hoster Tully was next. He had recently swore fealty to the new King and was debating the offered spot on the small council. He was delighted to meet his grandson, Robb Stark, and was curious over the unbalanced vignette of Brynden the ‘Blackfish’ with a babe in arm.

Ned Stark came home depressed, tired, and battle weary. Most notably, without Lyanna. Instead her cradled an infant, not much younger then Robb.

Catelyn had been worried for the better part of a year, and Ned repaid her with a bastard. She felt for him, she really did; he had lost his father, brother, best friend, and sister in the span of a year. But that was no excuse for breaking a holy vow.

Tywin Lannister must have been some charmer. He was forgiven, his son as well; they had acted on false pretenses after all. The blame for the Prince and Princess fell on ‘rouges’ told to capture not kill. Gregor was imprisoned by Tywin himself, earning Master of Coin.

The Tyrells left the Stormlands after lifting their blockade on Storm’s End. Randal Tarley was awarded Master of War.

Stannis Baratheon was not a man of emotion. He did not mourn his brother. He sat as Lord of Storm’s End and cared little how his people cried vengeance.

Jon Arryn for instilling morality in the war and being the first to bow, was awarded Hand of the King. It was done in the hopes that the rebelling kingdoms would see that they were being heard.

But Rhaegar had wrongfully assumed that his reasons were understood by Dorne. 

Doran was a well calculated man, he would not rush to war. But his Uncle was dead. And after spending the first ten years of his life watching his siblings die in the womb or cradle, he had vowed to keep those surviving safe. He had hoped to live to see Elia and Oberyn gray and old. The man responsible for taking his only sister from him would pay. And Oberyn never forgot to remind him.

….

It wasn’t easy being a bastard.

And it surely never helped that I knew no one of blood relation to me. All I had was the stories people told me. 

Brynden liked to tell me how he met my Uncle, D’wande, soldiering in the Stepstones. He was a ‘part-time pirate’; he only raided those who were known for cruelty. And his ship’s captain was his sister, Sumara. She was one of the best bowmen Brynden had ever seen.

As many good stories as I heard about my mother, there were always wild guesses for my father. It became a sort of drinking game in the Riverlands: the man with the worst guess or explanation bought rounds for the whole bar, the best drank for free.

Mainly everyone thought the Blackfish himself was my father. He was close with the both of them and why else would he raise me? If you could call it that.

There was a reason he never married. He has no real idea how to parent. When I was being particularly troublesome, we would go on a visit to his brother, Hoster or his niece, Catelyn. 

Because of this I know the ins and outs of both Riverrun and Winterfell. 

I spent most of my early years at The Bloody Gate in the Vale were Brynden served as guard. The last time I was there was shortly after my eighth name day and I had asked him if he was my father. He never answered, so that was the last time I asked.

Around twelve he sent me to be fostered at Seagard, Jason Mallister was a good man and accepted. Though his boy was more Edmure’s age then mine, we got on well and would often play pranks on each other.

I was most certainly not a lady, it drove Catelyn insane every time we came for a visit. She would desperately try to get me to stay in on Sansa and Arya’s sewing lessons. It never worked.

I loved our visits north either way. I would tell Arya that I’d knight her one day. I would listen to Bran recount all of his weird dreams. I sparred with Robb until he’d admit defeat, read he’d get tired. 

Jon was always kind of my favorite though. We were both bastards missing a parent; he didn’t know who his mother was and I my father. Granted we both had wildly different out looks on the subject. He craved to be Jon Stark and I liked not having the rules apply to me.

A proper lady was to sew and tend to the children, but because I was a bastard I could lose an arrow and wield a sword.

In truth, I was what most men wanted their sons to be.

…


	4. The Start

It's been seventeen years since Rhaegar Targaryen first took Lyanna Stark.

My sixteenth name day was a few weeks ago, I spent it at Seagard. Patrek, Jason's son, dared me to find the Greywater Watch by myself.

I was roughly half-way there when I was stopped.

"Do you see that over there?" Theon Greyjoy asked his hunting companion.

"Way too tall for a deer," The eldest Stark paused, recognizing me from a distance. "Probable just an idiot."

"Is that Robb Stark?" I mock slowly making my way towards them through the low marshes. "Finally grew into your nose, I see."

"What do you want _bastard_?" Theon was always an arrogant prick.

"Nothing you've got _ward_." I wisely quipped, turning to my friend "What are you lot doing in the Neck?"

"Jon Arryn is ill, and the King wants father in court for something important. I think he might name him hand." Robb answered honestly. "What are you doing in the swamp, anyway?"

"Patrek didn't think I could find the Greywater by myself." I answered in turn.

"That's because no one can." The Greyjoy snorted.

I slid my thumbs underneath my leather tunic and shrugged, "Well, I'm always up to a challenge."

"You should come back with us, Father is always glad to see you."

"It's as if he thinks I'm going to disappear one day." I agreed and followed the boys back towards the Kingsroad where Eddard and Catelyn were no doubt waiting.

"You were raised by Brynden, and that's kind of his specialty."

"You're telling me! My name day was six weeks ago, and nothing. Not even a raven."

"Well, you know Lords don't usually care about their bastards." Theon quipped.

"That's getting really old Greyjoy. You've been a ward of the Starks for what, ten years now? And you haven't come up with new material. Sad."

"You're going to have to talk slower than that, you know he can't keep up." Robb laughed at his friend.

We had finally cleared the marsh and were back onto dry land. I smiled when I spotted the carriage and Stark bannermen.

Upon seeing Robb, the carriage door opened and out stepped Catelyn. Her fiery hair always reminded me of home, Riverrun.

"No luck then boys?" She frowned scanning me over, "Is that you, Syrana? Gods if I was your mother." She mumbled the last part, but I heard it.

"I wouldn't dream of giving you such stress." I gave her a smile that reached my eyes.

It's true I looked a mess. There was mud half way up my trousers, there might have been some in my hair as well. The hair that wasn't in braids was most likely tangled and knotted.

"We are going to stop by Riverrun before the capital anyways, we'll take you there. In the meantime, I'm sure Jon has a tunic you can borrow and you know Sansa would love nothing more than to tend to your hair." She softly smiled at me before turning to find her eldest girl.

"How _scandalous_ , I'm going to wearing Jon's clothes?" I mocked.

"Alert the masses! You're practically betrothed." Robb continued after Theon had left most likely to bother Jon.

"At least she's stopped trying to get me to wear dresses." I admitted.

"Yeah, I think everyone realized that that's a losing battle."

"How wise of them."

"What's wise?"

"Uncle Ned, it's been awhile." He pulled me into a hug.

"May I ask why it is that you're covered in mud?" He chided gently.

"Ah, well... You know... mischief." I playfully shrugged.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you."

...

Before reaching Riverrun, I had bathed in the river twice on Catelyn's command, had broken up a fight between Sansa and Arya, subsequently getting my ear talked off by the both of them, and caught Jon blushing at least eight times.

We were nearly in the courtyard when Theon and I were having a go at one another.

"Why has Jon been so fucking red? Have you been sucking him off or something?"

"Nah, I think it's because the next time he wears this," I pull at the shirt of his that I'm wearing, "he'll know that my tits have touched it."

I snorted when Theon stiffed in his place. "What's a matter Greyjoy? Did you just realize that a shirt has gotten closer than you ever will?" I kept walking as Theon blinked trying to regain his composure.

"Did you just break Greyjoy?" Jon sulked out from the shadows.

"Maybe." I alluded.

"You have to tell me how, it could come in useful."

"I just asked him a question about your shirt." I raised my brow as another sly blush took over his cheeks. "Jon you really gotta stop. It was two years ago and it was really bad."

"But I know how to do it now," He defended.

I smiled and shook my head at him, "I've moved on to greener pastures and I think you should too."

"Who? Patrek?"

"Jon. I have to go, Brynden might be back."

I made a terrible decision in trying to have my first kiss with Jon. God, I was probably the first girl to look at him as something other than Ned's bastard or Robb's brother. I liked the attention at first, I think he was one of the first people to call me pretty. It was exhilarating sneaking around Winterfell, but it was never meant to last. I was having fun, It wasn't a romance. I didn't look at it that way and Jon clearly did.

**King's Landing**

The King sat at his throne, mulling over the decisions he was making. The silver of his hair had turned more of a bronze with age and stress. And he had grown accustomed to the bags under his eyes.

His sleep was haunted with the visage of Robert Baratheon, youthful, righteous, and with a vengeful charge. Sometimes in those dreams, he doesn't miss, the stag buries a hammer in his chest.

Once in a blue moon, Elia comes to him. Asking if he'd visit their graves. Or how her brothers are. But, for the delicate woman she was, she'd mainly just scream.

He finds that when Tywin is scheming, he often imagines how she died. How terrified his children must have been.

He could get lost in those thoughts, but he has a kingdom to rule. And that was concern enough.

He knew he had to do something about Dorne. He had let the mourn in peace, but why had he waited so long?

Maybe he didn't want a living Martell accusing him, the ghost of his wife was far too much already.

He had offered Doran a spot on the small council, but he refused. He had thought to offered them brides, but that thought had subsided with time. It wasn't as if they'd accept any way.

Lord Tywin was always trying to get him to marry his daughter, Cersei. But he had heard far too many rumors to even consider.

The people feared that with no heirs, the throne would go to Viserys. And even he could admit that his brother was no good for power.

But Rhaegar had heirs. They were bastards as of yet and no one knew about them. It was before the war had begun and he was a young man with a head full of prophecies. Elia couldn't fulfill them, so he had to make his own third head of the dragon.

He had only meant to have one, but he had to make certain assurances. Not ever night of passion made a child and not every pregnancy made full term.

With no want for a new marriage, he had decided to legitimize the children he had. He would use his girl as most men do, for politics. And he would groom his son for rule.

There was no turning back now, the ravens had been sent.

**Riverrun**

To my shock not only was Brynden back at Riverrun, but Ser Jason and Patrek were as well.

"Syra, where the hell have you been?" He checked me for injuries as any good father would.

"Is that Jon's shirt?" Patrek questioned.

"How in the Seven Hells did you guess that?"

"You can smell the sulking and brooding for miles." He shrugged.

"I'll have to have words with the boy." Brynden almost stalked off.

"Stop. My shirt was covered in mud and Catelyn suggested I borrow it."

He sighed, "Fine. I have to speak with Ned and my brother, I'm sure Patrek'll fill you in."

And with that the infamous Blackfish turned and left towards the courtyard.

"What are you and your dad doing here anyway?"

"Brynden came looking for you, I figured it was best to pretend not to know where you were. I dinna ken what, but the king has sent for you." He looked around to make sure we were alone in the hall. "Father fears that with the Starks heading that way too, it might be for late reparations."

"What the king needs a new whore?"

"Dinna fash, we'll make a right stramash before that happens. I think they might even be talking about war again."

"Well, that's not good." I frowned.

"Aye. I figured I'd go with you. You might be needing company on the road, and Jon's not as much fun as I am." He smirked.

"With how much the two of you talk about each other, you should get married."

"Nah, he's too short. With you going to the capital, I'll bet Lady Cat finally gets you in a dress." He mocked.

"I'm afraid we're not friends anymore." I scowl at him.

I leave to find my room and redress in my leathers, as I'm walking away I can hear my ginger friends laughter filling the hall.

**Dorne**

Doran had sent for his brother, a message from the King had arrived at Sunspear. The Crowned Prince of Dorne had already read the letter at least three times by now. It seemed simple, but it's words clashed with the known truths.

"The king wants something from us, but there is something I want from him first." Oberyn sauntered into the courtyard of the Sun Tower.

He was a feared man with reason. A renowned fighter who coats his blades in poison. A man of vigor and passion, deadly, dangerous, and unpredictable.

Waiting for Doran's plan of vengeance was a poison to his mind. He was restless, still haunted by the corpses of his niece, nephew, and sister. Rhaegar was alive, but did not mourn. And Tywin Lannister walked free.

"It's more so what the King is giving you." The older and potentially wiser man handed his brother the parchment to read.

"A marriage? The man responsible for their deaths holds title, and he wants me to marry?" He threw the letter on the table, "He has no daughters. Or would he propose I marry the corpse of my niece?"

"Perhaps he means his sister, Daenerys?" Doran was just as perplexed. Rhaegar had no live children and yet requested Oberyn marry his daughter.

"This is but another vile joke they play on us brother. Why wait any longer when we could start right here, right now."

"We shall wait for more news,"

"And should none come?"

"We will begin the work."


	5. The Road

I had effectively evaded Catelyn's attempts to get me court ready. I wore a steel blue tunic under my leathers and brown trousers tucked into my boots, as per usual. But when Sansa came pleading with her Tully eyes, I couldn't help but cave. I think in total she spent an hour playing with the wild curls of my hair.

"Why do you always dye it? The silver is so pretty." The young girl asked me.

"Because, unlike you, I don't have my mother to thank for its coloring. It's true, my grandmother was from Lys, but such a color is rare. And you know how much I like blending in." I answered her honestly.

I didn't want to blend into a crowd, not entirely art least. But I didn't want people looking at me because of my uncommon tresses. They stared at me enough already because of my coloring; without knowing who I was, people often mistook me for a lost Dornishmen. No, I wanted them to see me for my strength, my bow-arm, and my swordsmanship.

We stopped for the night near Darry, maybe two weeks out from King's Landing.

Those of us with looser restraints were all sitting around a fire. The sun was setting and the rest of our convoy was getting ready for bed. The smell of smoke and the cracking of fire brought memories of my childhood, Brynden used to tell the best stories around fires.

Theon, Jon, Patrek, and I were all huddled around the fire, either telling ghost stories or giving general guesses for our royal visit.

"I reckon you Starks and Riverlords are in for a punishment." The Greyjoy smirked.

"A ward would know much of punishment, I ken." Patrek mocked. Their families were historied rivals, the Mallisters have been blocking Kraken raids for centuries.

"Why don't you speak normally, _pigeon_." The heir to the Iron Islands shot back.

"I'd make fun of ya, Greyjoy, but you have na been a kraken in a very long time."

"Ah, yes, the _eagle_ must always take the high road." I surmised.

"You're one to talk, you don't even have a sigil _mutt_." Theon's attempts to offend had never worked, I honestly wonder why he keeps trying.

"You're right, I don't. Lions, bears, krakens, wolves, dragons; Jon, you and me should make our own. What do ya say? 'Bastards at Arms', has a nice ring to it." I look to our raven haired friend.

Jon felt lost in most groups. He was friends with Theon and Robb, but he was the only bastard in that group and he didn't share their love of brothels. He loved spending time with the Stark children, yet again, he was the odd one out: Catelyn wasn't his mother.

He supposed he should feel more akin to this group. Syrana was a bastard, Patrek never got a chance to know his mother, and Theon was not treated as well as the Starks were by commoners. And yet he still felt alone all the same.

"I don't think I'll have my own sigil. I want to join the Night's Watch, with Uncle Benjen." He said taking a sip of the ale Patrek had smuggled out for us.

"Oh come on, Snow. Some girl rejects you and you're gonna swear 'em off entirely?" Theon shook his head, "You have much to learn,"

Apparently, Jon had told Theon about us. Not my name, but probably everything else.

"The little wolf pup finally caught a girl, hmm?" Patrek asked, though I'm entirely sure he knew it was me.

"I thought I did, but I didn't." He admitted, staring into the fire in an attempt to avoid my gaze.

"I'm not talking about a _girlfriend,_ snow. You either got laid or you didn't, which is it?" Theon Greyjoy could break banks with his love of whoring, or at least die trying.

"Can we not talk about this in front of her."

"What afraid for everyone to know you're still a virgin? And Syr doesn't count, you know that."

"Theon, I could bring in more tail than the three of you combined. And I wouldn't have to pay for it." I could be a smug little shit when I tried.

"No one would want to fuck you, you're ugly and you were more trousers than I do."

"Are you implying that you wear skirts, Greyjoy?" I had beaten him with his own words.

Knowing that there was no coming back from that blow, he got up to leave. You could barely hear his words over Patrek and I's laughter.

"Come on, Snow. Let the frogs have there fun."

Jon hesitantly followed the older boy back into the castle walls.

"No, come back! We were having fun!" I shout at their receding forms.

As our laughter died down, Patrek took a more serious tone.

"You know he's right, you don't have a sigil. The King called for you specifically; if it's for what we think it is...well, none of us have the right to say otherwise."

"Brynden could always claim me."

"If he was ever going to do it, he would have a long time ago, ya ken?"

"We'll just have to hope the King doesn't want me for that." I sighed, taking a gulp of ale from my cup.

"What else could he want?"

**...**

**King's Landing, the Red Keep**

Rhaegar had many advisers, and they all told him different things. Each one of them grovelling for favor, power at the demise of the rest. It was hard to trust any of them.

It was in times like these that he truly missed the honesty and forthrightness of northerners.

He regretted a lot of his early decisions, but naming Jon Arryn Hand was not one of them. Jon was the most honest man in his court, he was honorable and spoke frankly.

Most questioned his choice for Hand of the King, Jon was one of the rebels after all. But he had joined for a good cause, the man didn't want to see the two boys he raised put to death.

Little knew that Rhaegar had been planning his own rebellion for years. His father was not a good man, at least not anymore. His actions were only to smite and spite others. And he had no care for the lives at stake or those he ruined in doing so.

The tourney at Harrenhall had been the start of many things. He had hoped to meet with all the noble lords there, and win them to his side. It was meant to be the start of his reign, but Aerys had shown up and all of his best laid plans turned to dust.

Instead, he found a Knight with a laughing tree as it's sigil. He fell in love. He scorned his wife, and started digging the deep trench between him and Dorne.

It was those decisions and those mistakes that brought him here, alone.

Elia could not give him a third child. He's reasons for wanting one felt so stupid to him now. He went out searching for someone who could give him another babe. And he did, the product of which he could potentially pass off as one of Elia's.

It was on his return home that he had found her again. His winter rose. His ambitions brought him to make promises he knew he could not keep. But he made them anyway.

A lie was told, men she cared for lost their lives, and the rebellion was started.

Her memory was the reason he chose to pardon those who survived the battles. She had spoken highly of Jon and Hoster, so he had offered them positions.

But many years had passed since then, and he could scarcely remember what either of his wives looked like. His love for the latter ultimately caused the death of the former. He had naught but Dorne's accumulative anger to remember Elia by.

But there was something left of his love. He often wondered why he hadn't claimed the boy sooner. Perhaps he had a wish to allow him an experience of both families, as his mother had wanted. Not all Targaryens were worth mentioning, but all Starks were good. He hoped the wolf would survive court long enough to know he was dragon too.

This might just be another one of the stupid things he's done for love.


	6. The Truth

I remember little of the night in Darry. Just that it had been a moment of fun and that I had woken up with a horrible headache the next morning. But that was two weeks ago, and Patrek has been acting weird towards me ever since.

But he is an odd creature, so I let it slide.

I could see King's Landing from here. The walls guarded by the City Watch, The ruins of the Dragonpit on the Hill of Rhaenys, the Great Sept of Baelor with its gleaming white marble, and finally the looming Red Keep. The King's castle looked like a dragon itself, red stone perched on its hill snarling at the people it protects.

We entered the city through the Dragon gate. Our group being guided through Shae's Manse to the Red Keep by gold cloaks. It was a direct route. We stayed close to the city walls, I couldn't help but notice we were being watched by the men on those walls.

King's Landing is said to be the largest city in all of Westeros, but it's castle was smaller than Winterfell. I suppose it made up for its size in height.

It was hard to ignore the stench the city floated in. Some say there are rivers of excrement that flow through Flea Bottom.

As we got closer to the great keep, the air became more perfumed. A King could not live in stench, I suppose.

We were met at the castle gates by the Master of Coin, Tywin Lannister.

"Greetings Lord Eddard, Brynden, the King awaits you in the Great Hall. Rhaegar has sent these fine men to escort your families and belongings to your rooms while we treat. You'll be occupying the Hand's Tower."

At his words, a mixture of gold and two white cloaks emerged from behind the now open castle doors, ready and waiting. In their midst I could see a noteworthy man, the infamous Ser Barristan the Bold. Why a Kingsguard was away from his King, I could not fathom.

"And what of Jon Arryn? The Tower is his home is it not." Eddard inquired about the man who was as much a father as his own.

"I'm afraid he's passed in his sleep during your journey, the fever took him. If you're satisfied, we must be on our way. His Grace does not like to be kept waiting."

Tywin has always been a very serious man, some would call him unemotional. He did in fact feel such trivial things and at the moment disgruntlement came to mind. The King was picking a new Hand, the great lion had presumed his name to be top of the list.

Eddard and Brynden dismounted their horses and followed Tywin into the keep. Both men enlists their own man to watch over us; Brynden: Desmond Grell and Patrek, Ned: Ser Jory and Rodrik Cassel.

I dismount and help Arya and Sansa out of the carriage, offering a hand to Lady Cat as well.

"Why didn't you ride with us?" Arya whined half-heartedly.

"As much as I'm sure your mother would love the help, I don't think I could suffer your warring." I tilted my head towards her older sister.

"Maybe I fight with Sansa because you're not there to entertain me." She huffed in response before following her mother and brothers into the castle.

"Well at least we know you'll be bonnie with children." Patrek mused while approaching.

I scoffed, "I'm not going to have anything to do with children. You know that." I had discussed my disposition towards getting married and having a family life many times before.

"Well, things could always change," Patrek replied before stalking off and leaving me confused.

"Come on, little Ana. We mustn't be keeping these _fine men_ waiting." Desmond pulled me from my thoughts and guided me towards the few knights remaining.

Adding more to my confusion, among those left was Ser Barristan.

"I'm sure I'm not important enough for a kingsguard." I question the man.

"More important than you know, my Lady." He responded leading me through the castle.

Granted, I had never been to the Red Keep or the Crownlands for that matter, but I could tell that we were not heading towards the Tower of the Hand. Instead the knight with kind eyes and a genuine smile lead us in seemingly the opposite direction.

Sensing my concern, "The King has set aside a spacious apartment above the Kitchen Keep for you, my Lady. He hopes it will be to your liking."

The first of many lavish gifts for the King's future concubine, I imagine. I'm doomed to be a whore.

"I'm _not_ a lady, Ser. And may I ask why my rooms are separate from the other guests?" I asked as we came upon the apartments he was referring to.

I was trying to stay on my best behavior, using something Brynden taught me as 'Catelyn speak'. I watched as a few servants tidied up the main room and brought in my few belongings. I packed light, having not owned much.

"The King would request your presence once you've acquainted yourself. I'll be here when you are ready." The veteran of many battles simply smiled and stood guard at the door, my door.

I had no need to 'get myself acquainted'. I would rather get this over with so we could go home. Brynden had promised me a good hunt when he returned to Riverrun and I was keen on taking him for his word.

Without hesitation, I turned on my heel and headed for the door with Desmond in toe. "Right, well Tywin said something about the King not liking to wait?"

And we were on our way to the Great Hall. It's a good thing I had an escort, I don't think I'd remember my way through all of these halls and corridors.

Upon entering the Throne room four sets of eyes were on me: the two men I knew, the one I had just met, and the King of Westeros himself. I made my way next to Ned and Brynden, both with expressions unreadable.

Desmond excused himself, Ser Barristan gave a simple nod to his King before standing at attention, Lord Tywin glared on in disdain, and the King seemed infatuated with my appearance. The latter of course not helping my concerns.

"You wanted to see me, Your Grace." I spoke hesitantly to break the unbearable silence.

Before he answered Brynden whispered in my ear, "You're going to want to laugh, don't"

"Forgive me for staring, you look much like your mother." The King started.

Many say he was a beautiful man in his youth, valiant fighter, and beloved by the people. But expectations are always faulty. This was a man worn down by stress. He was leaner than I had expected and the silver of his hair was dulled and tarnished by bronze.

"I asked you here because it was about time I claim you, child"

Brynden was right, I really wanted to laugh. This had to be a fucking joke. Me, a King's bastard? No way in any of the hells.

"You're _not_ my father, and this isn't real." I stated simply. If anyone was going to claim me, it was Brynden. And if anyone was my father, they'd have to get in line with the various men who have taken up that mantle over the years.

"I meant to claim you years ago. And I should have to prevent this...shock." He stood from the throne and made his way down the stairs and towards me. "You even hide the silver of your hair. Your grandmother is from Lys," he disregards with a wave of his hand. "It is a good story you've been telling, but it is a lie. Sumara was a bold woman and I thank you, Ser Brynden for raising her in kind."

"It was a village effort," Brynden sneers under his breath. It appears he is no happier about this enlightenment than I am.

"Why would you want a bastard, anyways?" I was being spiteful, but our _good_ king was taking away the only form of self I had ever known.

"I don't have use for a bastard, it's why I'm naturalizing you. I will do you the kindness of keeping the name your mother bestowed you with. But, henceforth you will be known Syrana, first of her name of the House Targaryen." He spoke softly and staunchly.

And he smiled. Smiled as if he was giving me a gift. As if being a Targaryen was something to be proud of. The man who killed Ned's brother and father was a Targaryen. And the man who stands before us now, was the one who kidnapped and raped Ned's sister, and dines with the man who butchered his own children and wife.

I couldn't be of that. Related to that. He was wrong, mistaken. He had to be. Even so, his word was final.

I wasn't listening when he went on about how things would be and what was required of me in my new life. He dismissed me asking to join him later for a family dinner with Daenerys and Viserys.

Newly appointed handmaidens began to pull me away from the throne room so they could 'adorn me in royal garb'. The last thing I saw before exiting was a mourning look over Brynden's face as he mouthed an 'I'm sorry'.


	7. Adapting, Slowly

No sooner had I re-entered my apartments was I stripped down and sat in a bath of warm water.

It was a foreign endeavour. I wasn't a Lady, I had never so much as had someone do my hair. And now there are three women scrubbing at my body head to toe. I'd rather clean myself.

"I'm fully capable of bathing myself," I declared, wincing ever so often when one of them pulled through the knots in my braids.

"Nonsense. You're a Princess, my dear, nothing but the best." The eldest of the group responded. Her hair was greying and she was on the plump side, but she didn't seem to hate what she was doing as much as the others did.

"Ugh, It's going to take me an hour to wring all this dye out. How long have you been coating your hair in pigment?" The girl no older than Edmure asked as she kept sudsing my scalp.

"The last seven or so years..." Had it truly been that long since I've seen it? I was so used to it being black. I might not even recognise myself without it.

"Juliane, be a dear and bring out the dresses, would you?" The older woman asked the youngest of them, maybe fifteen at best.

The meek girl scampered off into the main chamber and presumably to the wardrobe.

"Where did they say you lived? The North?.... The Vale?... Either way, I bet you haven't seen anything like the attire of King's Landing. Oh, the gowns that have been made for you. Simply stunning." The old woman smiled, finishing the trimming of my nails.

Despite what everyone may think, I don't hate dresses. I used to wear them a lot when Brynden was Knight of The Gate. I just grew out of them, and trousers were cheaper. Brynden wanted me to be every bit as much of a fighter as my mother and uncle had been, you simply can't do most of that in a dress.

After they had scrubbed the rest of the stain from my hair, they dried me in plush towels.

The woman continued as they lead me from the bathing room, having covered me in a silk robe.

"I figured you might have a hard time adjusting to your new life, so if you need a confidant, we're here. Anything you say to me or my girls stays between us. I'm Mierda, Juliane is my youngest, and the one grumbling about your hair is Safaya." She introduced.

They decided on a dark red dress with flowing skirts and a tight V-necked bust. Which of course meant being slightly suffocated by a corset, delightful. I was foulmouthed the entire time they laced the strings up of course.

They had left my hair to flow wild and free, loose titanium curls wrapping themselves around my arms and shoulders.

If I was a Princess, I looked the part. Long, silken hair. Elegant gown. I just stared at the mirror for a moment. It was me, but it wasn't. The Syrana that went hunting, that was trained under Brynden, Rodrick and Jason never had time for corsets. Or the questions that came with silver hair. And here I was.

...

Ser Barristan Selmy became a personal guard throughout the rest of the day. My very own shadow.

I had long since left my apartments to wander the keep. I had hoped to make myself familiar with the place, to be able to navigate my way around. Mierda had offered to show me around, but I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.

I didn't want to believe it. Brynden never claimed me because I wasn't really his. And were Lysene characteristics really strong enough to skip a generation entirely?

Maybe it was true. People used to say that in the sun my eyes shone purple, dark but still noticeable. It's what gave men in bars reason to add Ser Arthur Dayne to the list of my potential fathers.

But none of the men mentioned on the list or in bars actually were my father, Rhaegar Targaryen was. And whether he raised me or not, that would give people enough reason to hate me.

I had eventually made it to the place I had wanted to go, the Tower of the Hand. I climbed all the stairs and knocked on the door I heard chatering behind.

"It's Syrana, can I come in?"

Within seconds I heard the light thumping of footsteps and without hesitation Arya threw open the door.

"Is it true?" She guaked at me for a minute. Arya was a mere babe the last time I had worn a dress or let my hair be its natural hue, she had no memories of it.

She eventually recovered enough to let me in the room where Sansa was sitting at a table, also shocked at my appearance.

I closed the door behind me, leaving Ser Barristan outside.

"Unfortunately, it appears I haven't been a Tully bastard this whole time." I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"So the King's really your father? And he legitimized you too. Syrana, you're a princess. You're royalty!" Sansa all but squealed. It seemed only Arya shared my discontent with the news.

"I guess. None of it feels real though, I mean look at me. My hair's silver and I'm wearing a bloody dress." I sighed, rubbing my forehead.

"You do look pretty, I guess." Arya smirked before joining me on the bed. "As long as you promise to keep giving me secret lessons, you're still one of us."

"You have a deal, pup." And we shook on it.

Arya has always been more wild than most of her siblings. She's stealthy and demanding, and she's never been one to follow the rules. She always wanted to train with Ser Rodrick like the boys do, but her mother has never allowed it. And when I came to stay and Brynden had me train, well, that was just fuel to her fire.

I thought it was unfair as well. Brynden made sure I was able to wield a sword or a bow if need be, why not Arya? Simple, Catelyn.

Everyone knew what was expected of high born ladies and fighting did not make the cut. Arya and I didn't care about that, so whenever I could, I would teach her what I knew. It wasn't always much, but it was something.

"Arya, she's a Lady now, and ladies don't fight." Sansa reminded. "And stop messing about, you're going to ruin my bed."

The wild girl glared at her polite sister, "They're just going to get 'ruined' when you sleep in them anyway. And Ana's been a _lady_ all of a day, she's not going to stop being her just for the King's account."

"Why don't you mess with your own sheets, let us ladies talk." Sansa lifted her chin high and proper.

"No no no, you are not going to fight over me. Technically, I am a lady, Arya. So I might not be able to get into as much mischief as usual. And I might not be your cousin anymore, but Brynden did raise me. I'm always going to favor a blade or bow over tea and songs, Sansa. I'm not either or, I'm both. I'll help you with your bow arm, and you and I can take walks in the garden, good?"

I hoped to settle an argument between the two before it had started. It was a compromise, they'd both get their fair share of my time.

My little speech would be a precursor to the many times that I would have to explain my part in both worlds. Or that I'm not one to be boxed in, an undefined variable.

Both girls agree, eventually. And we ease into chatting and friendly mocking like we usually do. The two Stark girls sharing their opinions on whether or not their father should take the role he was offered: Hand of the King.


	8. A Ruined Dinner

I must have lost track of time. A sharp knock comes from the door. Ser Barristan speaks over the diming evening sun.

"Your Grace, it is almost time for dinner. And I believe the Princess Daenerys is very excited to meet you."

"I guess that's my que." I sigh, getting up from the bed that the three of us had been lounging on.

"Please join us for breakfast tomorrow? I hear the Prince is very handsome..." Sansa pleads, guilting me with her bright blue eyes. She always had a love for tales of maidens with flowers in their hair and the knights who courted them. She dreamed much of a fancier life than that of Winterfell. I both adored and feared her view of treating everyone as innocent and wholly good.

"Who cares? You're probably not even going to meet him anyway." Arya states, getting up to retire to her own room.

I shoot the older girl a sympathetic smile, "Either way, I'll see you both tomorrow. Wish me luck?"

I bid them both a good night before following Ser Barristan down the stairs and through the castle.

It was quiet in the halls with guards standing in silence and the occasional servant scurrying around. I'm glad I had opted for a fresh pair of boots instead of the pointed heels the girls had offered me. The sound of Ser Barristan's cape and the clanging of his chainmail was noise enough.

I don't think I would ever get used to the vaulted ceilings, arched doorways, and marble pillars of the Red Keep. I felt as if I didn't belong here among knights, lords, and ladies. All prim and proper, groomed for their status.

It was hard to walk the halls and forget the truth of who I was. The three headed dragon billowed in the breeze and sneered at me from carvings in the wall. I couldn't avoid it. And with my silver hair no one would ever mistake me as anything else.

I already miss the loose fabrics of tunics and trousers, the ability to move and breathe freely. But a Princess can't look and act like a boy. I suppose I'll have to get used to this new life of dinners and corsets.

I was nervous. But not because I was meeting my real family. I was nervous because if I don't behave properly, I have no doubt the men who took part in my rearing will be punished for it. I should have been listening more when the King had been speaking about my new found responsibilities.

I remember he said he has no use for a bastard. That means he has plans for me already. I'm not sure I want to know what he'll require of me.

The dinner was held in the Queen's Ballroom inside of Maegor's Holdfast. Entering it felt like a prison; walls twelve feet thick, a dry moat littered with iron pykes. The ballroom itself was only large enough to seat a hundred. There were silver mirrors on the wall and when torches were posed next to them the light was bright enough to believe the room was on fire. In the center of this windowless hall was an oblong table with four seats, two were occupied already.

"Good, I'm glad you've found your way here. You do look grand in our colors, my dear." Rhaegar greeted me. He gestured to the seat across from him at the table.

"I'm Dany. I hope we can be friends, there needs to be more girls around here anyways." The pretty, young girl with bright purple eyes introduces from my left. She was maybe a year under myself, but had the naivety of a child. The optimism and trust of one too. I would consider her sweet and pure if under different circumstances.

"My apologies, it appears Viserys won't be joining us tonight." He sighed and waved his hand for servants to start serving the food.

The food was more extravagant than that of the taverns I had frequented as a child. More venison and beef than mutton, and fruits I'd never tasted. And wine was served instead of mead or ale like it would in the Riverlands of the North. It was dark, and red, and very sour. My distaste must have been noticeable.

"The Reach provides us with the most succulent cuts and some of the largest berries grown in Westeros. I assume it's the wine that's not to your favour." He questions.

"I'm sure it's lovely. I'm used to a strong ale; no one really drinks much wine north of the Trident." I pick my words carefully in response, nervously playing with the sleeves of my dress.

"I don't really like it either. It's different, don't we usually drink Arbor wine?" Daenerys asks her older brother.

I had long decided to simply watch unless spoken to. I wouldn't want to say anything out of turn, afterall I don't really know these people.

"You are developing quite the nose for wines." He smiled at his only sister. "But yes, this is not Arbor wine. I thought we'd get accustomed for when our guests arrive."

"We're having more guests?" The girl's face scrunched up in confusion.

"I would prefer not to call the Starks guests, but Eddard is being decisively tight lipped about his decision, if he's made one. You are correct again, dear sister. We'll be receiving a Dornish host within the month. I have made arrangements with their Princes."

I let out an involuntary scoff. The only arrangements that the blood thirsty prince of dorne would make is for vengeance. Everyone knows the Dornish detest the crown.

"I had hoped to tell you earlier or at least privately." Rhaegar started.

"What does Dornish arrangements have to do with me?" I would rather like to be far away from this conversation and the politics behind it.

"I would have liked to have more time with you, but time is not a thing Kings can afford. It is not secret that the Martells have qualms with the way I handled the Sacking or the punishment of Elia's death. I had to mend Dorne's relation to the Crown. Doran has agreed to continued peace under the condition of a marriage." He was trying to get a read on me as he spoke, trying to gauge my reaction.

"Is Viserys finally going to get married? Or is it me?" Dany gleamed with excitement, she had completely misread the room.

"So, you hadn't even met me and you already had an engagement in the works?" I was trying to stay calm. Doran was known to be a good man, well tempered, his sons would be as well. But I'd still end up a pawn, a moving chess piece in the game of thrones.

"Apologies do not go as far as wedlock, I'm afraid. Doran has promised that despite his nature and reputation, his brother will treat you-"

"His Brother? The Red Viper of Dorne? That's who you've sold me to?"

Without looking at me, he ordered men to escort his sister back to her rooms and the rest to wait outside and give us privacy.

"I did not sell you. You are not cattle or sheep to the slaughter. You are _my_ daughter!" He stood from the table, his chest heaving with angered breaths. "I would have preferred to marry you to either of his sons, but Doran is not the Prince I need to make amends to. Oberyn does not care for the politics at play or my explanations. I have yet to name a successor and I imagine it would please him that his wife be on the list."

"You're insane. That man could kill me for my name alone. Brynden would never let you-" I was fuming, he had no right.

"Brynden Tully is not your father, neither is Eddard Stark or Jason Mallister. They may have raised you, but they have no claim. You have my name, my blood, and my hair."

"Blood is nothing compared to a childhood. Your not my father, you're just another in a long line of sick and evil men-" He slapped me. It was loud and harsh, my cheek burned because of it.

"I have never been my father, do not make me act as such." He scolded. "I wanted to have a nice dinner, introduce you to our family, get to know one another. But this country always gets in the way of what I want." He sighed, massaging the hand that struck me. "I know exactly what the smallfolk north and south cry out for. They don't trust the Lannisters and they don't like me. This is no longer about what I want or what you want. This country will go to war if I don't do something soon. And if all those places you grew up in decide to rebel in your name, I will have no choice but to smite them." He stated plainly as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"You'd kill innocent people just for your own gain?" It was rhetorical; I really didn't want to know how easily this man would or could order the slaughter of the families I'd known my whole life. "And no one would ever need to rebel, I'd never allow myself to get married against my will." I added quickly, giving him something to rebuttal rather than being struck again.

"The Boltons have spoken out against me and Eddard has done nothing about it. The Mallisters have never been kind to my rule." He eluded, speaking through an exhale as he walked at a slow pace around the room. "I should count them both as traitors, many on my council have advised as such. I could have them both stripped of their titles if I wanted." He turned back towards me, holding me prisoner in his Kingly gaze. "I _would_ hate to have to do that, but I understand that people only respond to fear. So please refuse all you want, your friends will suffer for it."

"You are nothing like people say you are." I muttered under my breath. I knew Rhaegar was close enough to hear me, but I wasn't going down without a fight. I just wasn't willing to risk other people's lives to do so.

"There was a time for the love of the people, for kindness, compassion, but those days have passed long ago." This man who named himself my father sighed as if reflecting on his own demons.

We stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, our thoughts in sharp contrast of each other.

I thought of my life before this: trying to make Brynden proud with a sword, attempting to win Catelyn's affections, running through the woods at Seagard. It has only been a day and yet it feels like years ago. People said Rhaegar was smart and they had good reason. He knew that no one would act in the best interest of the united country against their own personal wants and wishes, so he used threats. In my case, knowing I had no allegiance to his family or the name he had given me, he would dangle the lives of good men and those who treated me as their own as leverage. My life was no longer my own.

Rhaegar had his mind and eyes towards the future as well as alternate lives. This wasn't the time for questions and sympathy, though he did wonder if he would have been a better father had they survived the Sack. The ghosts of his past often keep him up at night while his days were filled with trying to ensure and protect his future.He was trying to do something many strongly opposed: bring the country back together through more permanent means.

Tywin would never outwardly state it, but the man was very keen on ending any and all potential threats to his legacy; the Dornish contemp being one of them. The Tyrells supported whoever was in power or had the best means of keeping it. The Vale was a very peace driven land under Jon's command and it would stay as such giving the right tutelage. As long as Balon could keep Victarion in check and Euron far off in strange lands, the Greyjoys would keep to themselves.

It was the nations who had lost the most during the great war whom he had to worry the most over. The Stormlands lost a false king, the Dornish a princess, the North a daughter, father, and son, and the Riverlands would forever be remembered as the battlefield. Most of their ruling lords had committed to peace,but the smallfolk had little reason to agree. It was their sons, brothers, and fathers who fought and died for a noble cause. It was their livestock and crops given to feed such armies. It was their soils and homes ruined, burned, and mudded thick with blood. Nothing was more powerful than a united grief.

"You understand that you have an order from your King, yes? You will marry the Prince of Dorne. You will keep him satiated, contained, and happy if you can. And you will bare him as many sons as he desires. And the country will put this ill will behind us." Rhaegar broke the silence. He wanted to be kind and tender, treat her like the father he had thought to be years ago. But the times had changed, he was a different man and much love had left him. He knew what needed to be done and he could not get there with bedside manners. The once noble and valiant Rhaegar Targaryen found himself making demands and trying desperately not to become his father.


	9. Subtle Defiance

It had been a little more than a sennight since that dreadful dinner. Since then I had been told that Rhaegar prefers weekly family dinners and that I'd be required to break my fast with him every few days. I suppose to monitor my progress into ladyship.

I had also heard that Eddard had decided to take the position of Hand. Sansa was ecstatic, all the handsome knights for her to court. But, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, so after the Hand's tourney Eddard was sending the boys home. And as much as he hated to part with her, Catelyn would be returning to the North as well to look over her youngest and help manage her Lord husband's keep.

I know that I'll feel more comfortable in this place with Eddard and the girls around. But as the only knowledgeable woman around that I trusted, I feel as though I needed Cat to stay. She was the closest to a mother I'd ever get. But I couldn't make her suffer the place that drove her sister mad. And I can't exactly tell her why I'd be needing her council.

I was betrothed to the Martell Prince more than 20 years my senior, but it wasn't official. Outside myself, none knew but the King, Doran and a few of his advisers I'm sure, and the Red Viper himself. I don't think I was even really supposed to know.

I could tell no one in the King's small council were privy to such plans because Lord Tywin had started asking my hand for Jaime. Rhaegar had said at length one morning how much of an insult that would be. He had removed the man from the Kings-guard in disgrace, everyone had assumed it was because of the sword he'd put through his father's back. As much distaste as I had for my father, he was admittedly clever: give Tywin power enough to satiate him, but not too much.

Some of the nobles were already trying to gain my favor as the King's heir, others eyeing me up as a bride for their sons or themselves.

In trying to indoctrinate me into 'Fire and Blood', most of my wardrobe was drowned in the red and black of House Targaryen. But, in my defiant nature, I had secretly sent out Mierda to obtain some Tully blues and Stark greys.

The King was said to be very busy today and wouldn't have much time to scold me, so I had my handmaidens dress me in my rebellion. A navy gown outfitted with sheer lace sleeves, the bust was tight and the thick fabric flowed from my waist. I wore it for the eight year old girl inside that still clung to calling Brynden 'dad'.

I had made it halfway down the hall outside of my rooms before Patrek caught up to me.

"You must be a busy woman, I havena seen you since we got here." He called from behind me. I smiled at the sound of his distinctive lilt.

"I've been hiding out with the girls most of the time." I answer, shrugging once he reaches my side.

"Look at you," He eyes me up and down before wrapping a finger around one of my loose curls. "I kenned it better black." He dropped the strand of hair in favor of resting his hand on the hilt of his dirk. "You were always a braw fighter, ya must be scunnered living the life of a lasse." He smirked, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.

"Of course I'm bored! I don't get to leave this castle, I'm not allowed to go hunting, these power hungry and old men keep trying to flatter me, and there's only so much of Arya and Sansa's bickering that I can take." I complained, knowing he'd have something in mind to alleviate some of my restlessness.

"I have just the thing." He grinned, offering me his arm and leading us through the many corridors of the palace. "How bout we spare like we used to? Tonight while everyone else is busy with supper?" He suggested hopefully.

"I think I have a jerkin or two laying around. Sounds like a plan."

"I hope it's not Jon's." The tall ginger mused, barely holding in his laughter.

He had nerve to suggest such a thing in public. I didn't really care, but my reputation actually meant something now. So as much as I thought it was funny, I had to act otherwise.

Smacking him on the arm, "How dare you sully my maidenhood with such lies." And now we were both trying not to laugh.

"My good lady, I meant no such thing." He altered his voice to that of some crotchety old lord.

"Pat lower your voice, you're going to offend someone." I pleaded, trying to stifle my chuckles. I missed the taste of mirth on my tongue that being with my childhood friend had brought me.

"Dinnae fase about me, you're the one wearing Tully colors when your supposed to be a dragon." He pointed out in mock scold.

Rolling my eyes, "You have a point." We had to have been passing near the Throne room, as you could hear the low chattering of gossip.

"I'll have to be going now. Brynden's been looking for me since morning, something about a letter from Seagard, and I dinnae want to keep that man waiting." He smiles from the side of his mouth, unlooping my arm from his. "We're gonna have a go though, right?"

"Absolutely. I promise not to let you win." I send a smile his way, akin to a smirking cat.

"The only person you can beat besides those green Stark boys is Edmure. And that because he wouldn't dare harm a lady." He challenges.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see." I sigh. Patrek always thought so highly of himself, in truth the last time he was my better was a year or so ago. I had learned to counter his heavy blows and brute strength since then.

"I look forward to it." He winked. He headed down the hall in search of the infamous Blackfish, hoping to find him in a good mood wherever he was.

I hadn't gotten a chance to speak with Brynden either, it appears he's been busy himself. I wonder how he feels about all of this. Will he miss hearing stories about his bastard daughter getting into mischief while he's away? Or is he relieved that he no longer has to concern himself with me, that I'm someone else's problem now? With his absence in recent years, I wonder if he tired of me. Maybe he's relieved but for another reason. Had he known? My mother often traveled with her brother and him, perhaps she had told one of them before they had gone off to war.

What would he think of this marriage? Would he try to get me out of it? I don't know how he could, and with the King's threats I don't think he should.

What do I know of Oberyn Martell? Rumors and stories. I heard he killed the first man he dueled, that's how the Red Viper got his name. I also heard he served with sell-swords in Esos and was a Champion of the Great Pits of Meereen. A dangerous man and well traveled.

But people often exaggerate. Or they only speak on the most sensationalized aspect of a person. Most at court make time discussing the wild guesses people used to make of my parentage, and they often forget that I'm more than that. I might not be doomed, rumors can be wrong and the Prince of Snakes could be a good man underneath it all.

Or he could kill me in my sleep.

I was thankfully pulled from my mindless stroll and doomsday-like thoughts when I heard the soft tones of a mother. Lady Catelyn was rounding the corner giving warnings to her girls as they followed her. She noticed me before they did.

"Princess Syrana," She greeted me kindly, knowing I was unused to the title. "I was just on my way to ask you to tea, the girls insisted on joining me."

Sansa beamed from beside her mother, wearing what looked to be a new dress, and Arya just looked bored.

"I wouldn't dare refuse." As I followed the trio out to the gardens, I decided I would tell would tell Catelyn about my imposing betrothal.

We were all seated surrounding a table at the edge of the courtyards, overlooking the cliff side that met Blackwater Bay. With birds chirping overhead, waves sweeping the shore, and the smell of honeyed blooming flowers you could almost forget that you weren't in a peaceful place. Lemon cakes, breads, and dipping cheeses were served along with our rose teas.

"How are you, dear? All of this must be such a shock." Catelyn asked, the comfort of her care coating each word as she spoke them.

"I'm still wrapping my mind around it, honestly. I thought I'd be Brynden's unclaimed bastard for the rest of my life. And I was quite happy to be." I looked down at my lap, playing with my hands idly.

Catelyn had a mother's intuition, she could sense that there was something still bothering me and that there were fears I had left unsaid.

"I remember the day you were born, sweet girl. You came into this world in my father's halls and your mother and uncle are buried on our lands; you will always have a place with us." She placed a soft, loving grip on my arm, "It seems, with that dress, that you're making sure everyone knows you were a Tully first." She raised her eyebrows at me in a knowing half-smile.

"Can you wear a grey one, next? You're from Winterfell, too. Maybe we could go dress shopping together." Sansa added after finishing her lemon cake.

I smiled at her sweetly, "I will try my absolute best. But, I won't look nearly as good as you do."

"You know they're leaving us here; Bran, Rickon, Robb, and Jon. They're all going back home, and mother too. Why do we have to stay? I don't like court and I don't want father to find some lord or knight for me to marry." Arya complained,picking at her bread and frowning into her tea.

I had always been the biggest support to her not having to get married. She used to complain to me a lot about how much she hated 'lady lessons' with Septa Mordane. I didn't know what to tell her now. Tell her that Eddard might not make her marry? But that was no guarantee that the King wouldn't force his hand. Tell her that this was the life highborn women were born to, that there's nothing we could do about it? It was the truth, and one that neither of us would like.

"Arya, you are the daughter of a highborn Lord, an arranged marriage is expected from you. I have no doubt that when the time is right, your father will find a good man for you, as he will for your sister." She reprimanded, sighing as she remembered her own misgivings towards her own betrothal. "And as for my return home, someone needs to watch over Winterfell _and_ the boys. And I am not leaving you here; you will have your father, your sister, and Syrana to keep you company."

"You won't have me for that much longer, I'm afraid." It slipped out. I didn't want to be saying this in public or right now for that matter. I waited for the serving boy to leave after clearing the table of empty plates and refilling our teas.

"Are you leaving us already?" Sansa whined.

"Are you planning an escape?" Arya smirked, "Can I help?"

"Girls, please. Let her speak. What do you mean, child?" Catelyn took hold of my hand, sensing I was nervous.

"Well, no one but those involved know about it yet. But the King has already promised my hand to someone." It felt good to tell someone, even if vaguely.

"Really! Who? I bet he's a knight. Is he handsome? Oh, you're going to have the most beautiful wedding ever!" Sansa chirped, shouting off question after question as if they were arrows and she was at war.

After quieting the enthused Sansa down to just giggles, enough to speak over her, Catelyn asked questions of her own. "Does Brynden know of this? I'm not sure Ned would have been able to tell me if he did."

"No, you're the first people I've told. And I don't think I was supposed to."

"We won't say a word to anyone, will we girls? Now do you know when this will be happening?"

"He's going to announce it before the Hand's tourney, I think, and they'll be arriving within the fortnight. And the King wants for no longer than one moon of courting, so.." I answered, going over the timeline in my head.

"They are not already at court? And why such a short courtship? When I was set to marry Brandon we had nearly half the year to get to know one another."

" _They_ are coming from another kingdom and they have a _history_ with the King and those on his council."

"You're serving as atonement of some kind then. Who has yet to clear the past with King Rhaegar's rule? It cannot be the Iron Islands, the only son Lord Baelon has left is in our care. It's either the Baratheons or the Martells." Catelyn continued, thinking out loud. She noticed the frown that appeared on my face once mentioning the Dornish house.

"Storm's End sounds dreary, but one of my handmaidens said that Lord Renly is quite handsome." Sansa giggled girlishly.

"Maybe you can tell him as much when he comes to attend the wedding." I replied to her smugly, already regretting bringing my situation to light.

"You're going to Dorne then?" Arya pieced together at my response.

"The Martells. Don't fret too much, Syrana. I've heard that Prince Doran is a good and kind man and has raised both his sons in kind. I'm certain you have nothing to fear." Catelyn smiled reassuringly.

"I'm sure they are, but I'm not marrying either of Doran's boys."

"You can't just refuse, he's the King. And you'll be a Princess twice over, Ana." Sansa objected, not quite understanding the meaning of my phrase.

Catelyn on the other hand completely understood. After promising to talk to me privately about it later, she wisely suggested we drop the subject in favor of finding the boys where they were most likely on the sparring grounds.

I put my thoughts on the subject to the back of my mind, saving them for my later meeting with the wiser woman.


	10. A Trout Circles a Dragon

Viserys had become fond of mention how lesser of a 'true dragon' Rhaegar had turned over the years. His hair no longer shined, it rusted. His frame no longer that of a capable warrior. His mind subject to haunts and bouts of worry.

It had been happening more frequently, the migraines that plagued him for hours. A result of the illness that was taking him, slowly. Maesters could not decipher what was taking the good King, but they had become artfully skilled at masking it. He was thinner than he had been as a Prince, in his glory days, and could not fight like the man he was.

Most days he felt as those these memories he has are another's, not belonging to him in the slightest. The beckoning of the Stranger was a deep, ratifying clarity; he once thought it was prophecy, the Gods calling him to do their bidding. He now knew better. He should have trusted the sound advice Arthur had given, to put all faith in prophecies is often folly. Rhaegar had only himself to thank for the fashioning of his fate, if there ever was such a thing.

He never wanted to be his father; not that broken of a man, that vile, sick, twisted, and drowning in the milks of paranoia. His mother had shielded Viserys from most of it, but Rhaegar was older, he had remembered how things were before Duskendale. Aerys still had some of his mind then, he wasn't fed pleasure from the burning of men.

Rhaegar was a different man then, too. Galient, proud, bold, and unconcerned. Most of all filled to the brim with fantasy, sacred word he had sworn was true and his.

He had been an arrogant fool. Never wasted a singular thought of what his actions did to others. The tears his shame and abandonment brought his sweet wife. The self-loathing he'd brought unto those men charged with following his lead. The descent and chaos and death his lust bloomed in the bosom of the country.

He thinks back to Harrenhal often. What was it that made him act in such a kind? Elia had loved him, had given him a child, and was heavily so with another. And yet he passed her. Was any of it truly worth it? Lyanna had a wolfish grin and mischievous grey eyes, he remembered her weeping over his harp during the feast. Why her? Was it her jousting in defense of a friend? The rarity of a Northern beauty? The wildness of wolfs-blood? What was so wrong with his wife that was so right with her?

Elia was beautiful; he could remember the way she danced and smiled at their wedding, bright and hot as the Rhyonish sun. He remembers the pretty words he had told her that night; how similar they were to sweet whispers he'd spoken in the tower of joy. Of silver haired babes, dragons born to save the world.

He loved Rhaenys and Aegon too, but their births savaged her. Rhaenys had bedridden her mother for the betterment of a year and Aegon nearly killed her. For all that effort, they never even looked like him; no silver hair, no melancholic disposure, no aptitude for ancient texts. Ser Lewyn had once stated Rhaenys to be a near carbon-copy of how Elia had been when she was young; a dazzling smile and all the girlish giggles that followed it. Ashara Dayne had acquainted her with the beginnings of Oberyn's brood; a spiteful sentence to pride those of Sun and Spear, their seed was strong.

The ugly truth was more aligned with the health that claimed the wolf girl and fled the Dornish. Elia had proven to be fragile and even then her mother had ten years of miscarriages, stillbirths, and dead babes; her house was not a proven one with fertility. Lyanna was young and as hearty as any Northerner; the girl of ten and four had many years to give him as many sons as her mother had given Lord Rickard.

That's all it had came down to: children. A legacy, which of these only daughters would give him the best claim to prophecy.

He didn't start the war, he used to tell himself, he was just the one who ended it. Wishful thinking. Brandon Stark wouldn't have rode off to King's Landing if Rhaegar hadn't have escaped in the night with Lyanna. Rickard Stark wouldn't have melted away in the Throne Room if Rhaegar came home to settle the dispute.

Why does he waste his time with the what ifs and the have nots?

He can't fix the past, only hope to mend the future. And there is little time remaining to do so.

The small council was awaiting his naming of an heir. He had no known children until recent and everyone had assumed Viserys would take the throne. Which would be far worse than handing the kingdom off to Tywin; the great lion was often cruel but he wasn't senseless. He would name one of his children heir; the question was of which one.

He'd legitimized one child and had yet to claim the other. His daughter had much loathing for him, he could see that clearly. But she was well liked by those living and ruling in the North, Vale, and Riverlands; she would have the support of the rebelling lands. He had scarcely seen Jon around the Keep; he assumed the Lady Catelyn prevented the boy from roaming freely.

He had wanted to give him his true name and a crown fitting of it; do right by Lyanna. But something always stopped him. The northerners are not known for their politicking and this city would try to eat them alive. He had appointed Eddard Stark as Hand because of this; he's an honest man and Rhaegar can trust him not to scheme. Eddard knew the truth, or some of it at least, seeing as he had been the one to 'rescue' Lyanna from the tower. It seemed there was always that question in the man's eyes, the one he would dare not ask in public. Ned was waiting and wondering why Rhaegar hadn't named Jon when he had named Syrana. And Rhaegar asked himself the same.

The boy in question had taken more of his mother than he. While with Syrana one could clearly tell she was of Old Valyria, Jon had looked more wolf than anything else. People might think the King to be reaching; desperately grasping for an heir to carry on the family name. And the North might take it as an insult, to steal away a boy from them when they had already lost enough sons to dragon blood. And besides all of the moral and societal questions raised, he had heard that the boy has wishes of the Night's Watch. It was an honorable cause, guarding the realms of men, but could a King suffer an heir to it?

...

Lady Catelyn was troubled about the news the recently claimed Targaryen had given her. Catelyn never really expected the girl to marry; she was wild and willful, quick to challenge rules she thought unfair. Though she had heard rumors of Lord Mallister asking her uncle Brynden for the girls hand. But those were different times and none knew what they all did now.

She was the only living child of the King and men make alliances with their daughters. The mother of five had hoped that the girl would be given more of a chance to adjust herself to the new role before a betrothal, but what are wishes to the Gods?

There are quite a few eligible noble men of which to choose from, most of which far closer to the girl's age. She could understand wanting to bridge the ever-growing gap with Dorne; Prince Doran had two boys, the eldest of which was knighted and a most appropriate match.

But it was the Red Viper of Dorne, the Exiled Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell whom was to marry the young girl. She could not understand why the King would trust his only daughter's care to such a man. His vengeance and hatred was well known across the Seven Kingdoms; while Catelyn could agree that what was done to that poor girl and her babes is vile, the King's justice had been served and there was nothing anyone else could do on the matter. It would not be a happy marriage, the Lady knew that; the Second Son of Dorne was also known for his proclivity for whoring and it is said that he is not one to keep the same attentions long.

It was no longer her place to care for the girl's happiness nor her future. But Catelyn got her first taste of motherhood when that caramel skinned babe was born, her first moments marking her mother's last. She cared and she wasn't about to stop. She knew her uncle wasn't either.

Catelyn found Brynden wandering around the courtyards joined by Patrek Mallister.

"Lady Catelyn," Patrek gives a small bow in respect.

"Patrek, how is your father?" She greets.

"He is well. He's on the road here for Lord Eddard's tourney."

"Ser Jason is not one to miss a good joust is he?" She mused.

"You ken him well." Patrek smiled in return.

Brynden could tell his niece had sought him out for more than just small talk, "Patrek, why don't you go find the Stark boys and make sure they aren't knocking each other in the mud."

The heir to Seagard did just that, even though his curiosity was hard to beat.

"I had tea with the new Princess the other day," she started.

"Oh did you? I hear she's hard to pin down, very busy." Brynden grumbled, he had missed the days when he could easily track down the girl and catch-up with her over lack beer at some tavern or during a hunt.

"Don't sulk, dear uncle, she'll always think of you as her father, make no doubts about that." Catelyn smiled, eyes full of the pride she had seen in the girl time and time again. Her thoughts quickly turned back to the matter of concern, "Syrana shared with the girls and I that the King plans to make an announcement during the Hand's Tourney."

"And why would she know that?" The Blackfish inquired, latent interest flickering his gray eyes.

"The King is announcing a new arrangement with Dorne. One that will further the peace within the realm."

"The Dornish are actually negotiating again? I could've sworn the next time we'd hear from them would be terms of war. What got the good Prince Doran to put a muzzle on his brother?" Brynden chuckled, though he would soon regret his humor.

"A marriage. House Martell will bind themselves to the ruling House Targaryen once more."

"And what does this have to do with Syrana?"

"The King has betrothed Syrana-"

"She'll be alright. She fights well, she can beat either of, both Doran's boys no question."

"Brynden, they're marrying her to Prince Oberyn."

"Does Ned have anything to do with this?" there was a newfound grit to the man's voice.

"I'm sure if he knew, he would have lobbied against it. Or at least towards one of the younger Princes." Catelyn worried if telling him now was a good idea, but her uncle had always been a reasoned man.

"Eddard thinks of her in the same light that I do, he wouldn't sell her off to a deviant of his likes. You know I've received requests for her hand? Not many, but it was enough for me to realize that she's a woman grown now. I've been more of a father to her than the King has, your husband and Lord Jason can claim the same. When the tourney knight arrives in the capital, the three of us will just have to have a little talk with His Highness."


	11. An Uneventful Tourney

King's Landing was bustling with commotion; it was the first tourney since Harrenhall, and everyone was just too curious to miss it. Hedge knights, noble lords, knights, white and gold cloaks alike all seeking winnings, glory, and the attentions of fair maidens crowded the surrounding roads and inn houses.

Rhaegar was offering quite the reward for championship after all; thirty five thousand gold dragons to the winner of the final tilt, twenty thousand dragons to the runner up, twenty thousand dragons to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the winner of the archery contest. Eddard had never been a man for pageantry; the tourney might have been called the Hand's, but it was for something entirely different. The King wanted an audience. He wanted all his lords and people from all his countries to be here, to remind them. House Targaryen still lives on and is strong and flourishing, and they're making their worst enemies their allies.

He is announcing a royal wedding; his daughter to the man who wants him dead most. If the man people whisper is past his prime can accomplish such a thing, then their line just might be untouchable. The Targaryen's have survived rebellion upon rebellion upon rebellion; it seems they've decided to end another before it starts.

Rhaegar had decided against naming Lyanna's son his heir. The boy was taken to much with the shame in bastardry; a shy man has never made a good King. He'd name Syrana as his successor during her wedding feast. And he had until then to prepare her for such as well as the court.

He knew he couldn't trust most of his advisers to uphold his command once he was gone; they'd rather have Viserys sit the throne than a woman. And she hasn't been at court longer than three moons, she was an unknown entity to those south of the Riverlands. The biggest and strongest houses and their support knew nothing of her; a tourney was perfect opportunity to fix that dilemma.

He already has plans to further unite the kingdoms, bringing about marriages between distanced houses. The countries he needed the most would drive the hardest bargain, but to refuse a King is treason. He hoped that still meant something.

**....**

It had been the first time I had left the castle since arriving some two moons ago. Though I would much rather be riding north then watching some glorified charade.

Everyone was gathered at the tourney grounds just outside the King's Gate, eager to take part or witness one of the events. The main crowd was gearing up for the joust and there was quite the lineup of men entering the lists. People came from all over; sigils of House Redwyne, Frey, Stark, Mallister, Royce, Lannister, and Baratheon. There were a few I didn't recognise as well: a black adder, a red ox, a white ram, a dancing maiden, a brindled boar, a burning tree, a triple spiral, and a horned owl.

I never cared much for jousting and I prefered to be watching the melee or the archers instead, but Rhaegar wanted his family to at least look a united force. So I was sat next in the royal galley; on the highest platform the King had Dany and I at each of his sides and Viserys, whom I still haven't met, would be to my left.

Rhaegar has been trying to teach me about the politics of the realm, I don't think it matters when he'll be marrying me off before the year is over. I don't even see any Martells, and the only Dornishmen here is Edrick Dayne and he's a squire for some Lord from the Stormlands, Dondarrion I believe. The support of my future husband's countrymen is overwhelming, honestly.

I was among the first to arrive and without Rhaegar around to pull me from doing so, I moved down to sit and chat with the Starks and Patrek.

"Are you joining the lists with your father?" I ask the Mallister heir as I approach the group.

"Only if one of the wolf pups agrees to join with me." He smirks nudging Robb with his elbow.

I smile at Robb and shake my head slightly towards Patreks antics.

"What? I canna exactly get you to join me, I've got to settle."

"Good to know I'm second place." Robb chuckled. "Haven't seen much of you around, is it that busy being a Princess?"

"Well, I've never been the one to listen to the rules and there are certainly a lot of those now. I'll have you know Robb, it's quite stressful being a Lady of the court."

"It is odd seeing you something other than trousers-"

"Were you hiding tits the whole time?" Theon remarks as if he were asking the weather, having appeared from thin air to join us.

"The hell did you come from, Greyjoy?" Patrek questions, looking over the crowd that's filing in.

"Lady Catelyn thinks it's best if the bastard and I stay on the sidelines. If a failed rebellion is so bad then how did you Starks get invited to court?" Theon complained.

"Different circumstances; people like the Starks, your father publicly threatened the King." I answered Theon, shrugging.

"Oh, right. You're one of them now." He tilted his head towards the dragon banners that lined the galley. "Syrana the turncoat. What's it like swapping out fish for flames?'

Patrek had left to find his father halfway through Theon's whinging, therefore Robb took his place in defending me.

"She's not a turncoat. And she'll always be an honorary Stark in my book. You're just jealous her father actually wants her."

Theon stormed off to wherever he had come from in the first place, not even bothering to respond.

"You know you don't have to defend me, right?" I turn to him, sincerity and gratitude evident in my eyes.

"We were born within a month of each other, I feel like you're the older sister i'll never get. And I always defend family." He promised, before returning back to a less serious subject. "How did you even get out here so early? Don't they have you under lock and key?"

"I semi-snuck out. I was able to convince an old knight that I was only going for a walk." I glanced towards Ser Barristan who stood guard about three paces from where we were.

"Right, you have a bodyguard now, though I doubt you need one." He smiled knowingly.

"Just because I'm your better doesn't mean I'm the best there is."

"I let you win." He cut in dejectedly. "And father always told me never to hit a girl."

"Sure, sure. Let your honor be an excuse." I mock. "Hey, wheres Arya?" I frown looking towards the empty seat she was meant to fill.

"At her _dancing_ lessons." Sansa answers joining us from Septa Mordane's side.

"Missing a joust for dancing lessons? That doesn't sound like Arya at all." Robb raises at brow at his sister.

"Oh dear _Robbert_ , I'm entirely sure the lessons aren't for dancing." I sat next to Sansa and offered Robb a condescending smile.

He sat next to me and spoke in a hushed tone, "I know its my namesake, but this is the absolute worst place to call me that. You know I don't like it and it makes father sad."

"Are you talking about the Usurper? You know where not supposed to talk about him while we're here." The younger girl chides before changing the subject. "I've seen the Prince around the castle grounds, he's so handsome. Can you introduce us, please?"

"Sansa, I honestly haven't even met him, but I've heard he can be cruel. There are going to be many knights here and I'd ask that you'd put your attentions on one of them instead."

"Syrana," Catelyn greets as she enters the galley, Rickon and Bran by her side. "I had thought you'd be with the Prince and Princess. I believe your father is looking for you; he and Ned are speaking about matters that concern you. I would suggest you have that Kingsguard of yours take you to them."

"I guess I'll be going then." I stood and gave my goodbyes to the Starks, thanking Catelyn for the warning.

I didn't even need to ask Ser Barristan to take my to the King; he, Daenerys, Viserys, and Ned were all making their entrance to the galley. Eddard giving me a smile and heading to take his place besides his family.

"So this is whom everyone's been talking about." Viserys stared me down, approaching with proud strides. He circled me like a hawk its prey, "She almost looks Dornish; you could have definitely passed her off as one of Elia's." He stopped at my side and looked me up and down. "She's far prettier than that wench ever was, and you can see the dragon in her." He smiled to his brother.

"Vi you're scaring her off," His sweet little sister whined.

This being the first time I've met my supposed uncle, I would want to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the way he looked at Dany was unsettling. And he spoke as if I wasn't in the room. Sizing me up and comparing me to his late good sister; pass me off for one of Elia's, what an evil notion.

"I can hear you, you know. I am not one of Elia's and that was a terrible thing to say. I have a name, by the way. " I took a step away from him as I spoke with a frown.

"As I've heard. Syrana." He said as if he were testing it out on his tongue. "That's not a dragon's name, it doesn't sound at all of Old Valyria; we'll have to give you a new one then. Dany, why don't you think up a pretty name for our new niece."

"I'm not changing my name. It's mine and I'm quite pleased with it." I scowled at him. He truly was everyone thought him to be: an arrogant Prince whom prided himself that dragons bowed to no man.

He smirked at me. He moved to stand at my side again, this time taking a hold of my arm and pulling me into him as he whispered in my ear. "You can keep the name your whore mother gave you. Rhaegar won't let me have Dany, so you'll have to suffice. I like this little game we're playing. Be careful you don't wake the dragon."

And with that, he released his hold on my arm and moved to take his seat next to mine. Dany had followed her older brother to sit and watch the men set up for the first of the joust.

And just as I had thought to speak with Rhaegar about my future marriage, he silenced me with a 'not now'.

When we were all seated Rhaegar called for the joust to begin. I don't understand why people find such events worthwhile; sure the loser is supposed to give up their armor and horse, but the highborns almost never do.

I watched Jory unhorse a knight of House Frey and one of House Redwyne before losing a third tilt to a knight with a bear paw as his sigil. As two more knights are rounding off to have a run at each other, Viserys notices a rather unwelcome presence.

"He shouldn't be here," He seethed and turned to his brother expectantly. "It's bad enough you allowed him his life, but to let him in this city? I'll kill-"

"Jaime is a knight and is welcome to participate in any tourney's he likes. I've made my decision on the matter long ago; abhor it all you want, but I made as King. Now if you attempt to harm that man his father's men will be on our doorstep, and if I haven't killed you already, you'll be their greeting party. Understood?" Rhaegar spoke with a quiet rage that made me wonder how close he danced with madness.

Viserys clearly wasn't pleased with that answer, but spoke no more of it to the King. Instead he decided to bother me with his fantasies of the future.

He leaned into my side and slid his elbow onto the arm of my chair, his fingers grazing my thigh. "He's dying, you know. Rhaegar's been dying since the Trident; nobody knows why or when, but I wish it'd hurry up." He chuckled lightly, he was so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. "When I'm King, I'm going to kill all those lions, every last one. Then they'll know that you can't kill a dragon. My brother is doing a horrid job at making them fear us. He's trying to bring back the glory of our house; he's attempt on that is poor as well. You need sons to build an empire; Dany's already flowered and your a woman grown. When Rhaegar dies I'll have two wives and seven kingdoms."

**...**

Despite Viserys being a general creep, the rest of the tourney went well. In the Semi-Finals Sandor Clegane, one of Lord Tywin's men, defeats Ser Jaime. And as Ser Barristan is setting up for the tilt against Ser Loras Tyrell, I can hear the chatter from the right side of the galley where some of the council members and their families are seated.

"A hundred gold dragons on Ser Barristan the Bold" Petyr Baelish called out to the youngest son of House Baratheon.

"I'll take that bet" Lord Renly replied.

"Now what will I buy with a hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? Or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

"You could even buy a friend" Lord Renly quipped.

I could also see that Sansa had received a red rose from the Knight of Flowers and was quite worried at his tilt. After all a man had died during the joust already.

Everyone watched as Loras' lance broke on the impact of Ser Barristan's shield and his horse not allowing him to maneuver away from it. Ser Barristan and his horse went careening into the fence; Ser Loras had won the tilt and was in the Finals.

"Such a shame Littlefinger, would've been so nice for you to have a friend."

"And tell me Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?" Little finger smirked before sitting down and leaning in between Ned and Sansa to whisper something.

The knight of the Kingsguard took the loss with grace and the Final tilt soon commenced. Ser Loras unhorsed Sandor Clegane as well, winning the champion's purse, though I doubted the knight from Highgarden needed it.


	12. Beginings

The festivities of the joust and other tourney games were moved inside the Red Keep. The guest were all merry and drunk, most congratulating those who had won their respective prizes.

All the stories and drunken recounts of the day were far more interesting than what I had witnessed. I suppose it was because I had only gotten to witness the list instead of the archery competition in which an exiled Prince from the Summer Isles had competed. The large group of men exchanging praises made me wish I had watched the three hour melee instead of just hearing about Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword. Maybe I just wished I hadn't been sat next Viserys and his wandering hands all day.

Rhaegar was making the rounds before everyone was seated, telling me which Lords to greet, which hands to shake, and whose asses to kiss. It was dull and I honestly couldn't tell who I was supposed to care about or why I should remember any of them.

He wanted me to act as though I had lived in King's Landing my whole life, and was raised for politics. But I wasn't.

Brynden never cared much for the subtle infighting of lords and ladies so he never taught me it. And I have never lived in a big castle, never had servants follow me around. I wasn't some highborn Princess who needed pampering and obeyed the rules to a t. No, I was the daughter of a foreigner, a bastard; lowborn enough to ride the lands muddied without care and because of Brynden, highborn enough for the common folk to sing me praises when I came through. I never needed to know any of those things and I don't think I'll ever care too much about them now.

The only person I'd ever cared to change how I spoke to them would always be Catelyn. She was a proper lady and I couldn't quite use my foul mouth around her. And it was out of respect as well, she's like a mother to me. I used to go to her for advice about boys and crushes, and I always asked her why Brynden wouldn't claim me. Her treatment of Jon had sent me into tantrums when I was younger; she loved me and I was baseborn, why could she not do the same for Jon?

I knew now, that just like everything else in this world, her treatment had nothing to do with our birthing status or who we were as people. Everything was about whom you were born to, who you fought for, and what flags you flew.

No matter how hard he tried, I'd never be a true dragon most everyone could tell that, though I doubted they'd say as much. Maybe that's why he's marrying me to some who'd probably kill me if I were a real dragon.

I guess that meant I'd never get to fly a Tully banner like I'd always dreamed of. Nor would I get a chance to fight alongside the wolves of winter. I'd be stuck being a broodmare in the desert to a man twice my senior, splendid.

The feast was grand; black beer and mead from the North, sweet and spiced wines from both the Arbor and Dorne, fish from the Sisters and Driftmark, various fowl and game, bread and fruits from the Reach, and blood oranges and lemon cakes from Dorne. Servants are bustling all around trying to maintain everyone's cups and goblets. I'd rather be one of them, unimportant and lost in the crowd.

The high table is packed with honeyed boar and other salted meats, grapes, berries, breads, and fine cheeses. But my appetite is as sour as the wine sent from Dorne; I know the grand announcement the King is about to make. I can at least enjoy the fact the Viserys is seated at the other end of the table instead of next to me. I'm sat on the left end, Daenerys and Rhaegar taking the middle, and Viserys on the right.

Rhaegar stands from his high seat, welcoming all the guests to his court and congratulating the victors and the competitors on their efforts for the champion's purse. Once the room has quieted enough he starts on the reasoning for the tourney.

"I figured we were all over do for a tourney, and I'm glad you decided to attend despite the outcome of the last one." He jested, receiving a few chuckles from more than tipsy Lords and Knights. "To state the obvious, I have a new Hand; Jon Arryn was a good man, I figured it'd be best to replace him with an honest one. To Eddard Stark, may you serve your station well." He paused in toast, northmen and riverlords alike called out in salute. "I bring you more good news. I have negotiated a new peace with Dorne, one that will end the skirmishes between its borders with that of the Reach and Stormlands. We'll be hosting a Royal Wedding within the year; my daughter is betrothed to Prince Oberyn, the Targaryens of King's Landing and the Martells of Sunspear will be friends again. Let us all welcome Sir Manfrey Martell to court to serve as proxy while we await the arrival of the infamous Red Viper."

Cheers erupted in the crowd; some marcher lords must have been tired of losing men to border wars. While Dany giggled and swooned, giddying herself over the idea of a wedding, I could feel the heat of anger radiating off Viserys. From the way he spoke of Elia, I doubt he thought any higher of the other children of Dorne. He was mad thinking he could claim me in any sense, though I don't think he'd let his notion of three headed dragons go that easily.

I watched this Ser give polite smiles in return to the Lords questioning glances; most everyone in the great hall had only really heard of or concerned themselves with four Martells, half of which were already dead. From what I could see, Ser Manfrey was a handsome man; taller than Jon, shorter than Patrek, long curled ebony hair, and skin a hue darker than mine. I suppose I could spend the rest of my days with someone of a similar look.

But how do Dornish act? How do they think? Are they as vengeful and hot-blooded as everyone thinks they are?

This man is to serve as proxy before my betrothed arrives; most likely to teach me the Dornish customs and what will be expected of a Consort Princess of Dorne, and lets not forget instruct me how to please my husband. Perhaps I'll develop a taste for wine.

**DORNE**

_Sunspear_

Just offset of the crystalline aqua pools of the palace's courtyards the two sons of Dorne spoke in the confidence of the parlor room. Maester Caleotte had brought the letter from King's Landing to the Crowned Prince earlier that day. The once 'exiled' knight had been called to his brother's offices after having been self-proclaimed indisposed as of late.

"I've received word, Manfrey has been welcomed into court. You should have been with him; he is to serve as _my_ proxy, not yours as well." Prince Doran spoke calmly as he always had, though his eyes held the frustration of his uncomplient brother.

A cup of half-drunk wine in hand, "I've recently found the notion of travel exhausting. Perhaps our dear cousin can serve in your games instead." Oberyn Martell was a man proud of his family, but he had his hesitations towards what that family required of him.

"I am far too complacent with you, brother. Must you forget, I am crowned and you are not?" Doran was acutely aware of how different their circumstances would be should their roles be reversed, if Oberyn had been the Crowned Prince.

"Mmm," He sighed looking at his cup, swirling its contents in mild discontent. "And being the second son of Dorne means that you can marry me to the child of a man who watched, if not caused our sister's death." This was a statement not a question, a fact that even Ellaria could read the politics of.

"You would have me send a decline to King's Landing? A rejection of a royal offer? Have me suffer the consequences for your pride? Make Manfrey a prisoner, start a war? You'd rather them ask me for your head?" Doran knew Oberyn was not as impulsive as he would have people believe, but the 'Red Viper of Dorne' would not be the only one to face the repercussions of his delays. Doran would not let his people face the ales of war.

"This isn't about pride. You'll never have your peace without vengeance; the people cry out for it. And your way is keeping us ignored."

'The people', yes the smallfolk and noble lords alike want justice for their Stolen Daughter. They want the respect that Dorne is owed, they want to settle their discontent of past and present treatment. But the people don't know the politics; the consequences of unplanned and uninformed moves, the hands that need to be shook, nor the power and prevalence they would need to gain to accomplish their will.

"The people cry out for many things, and I try to give what I can. But you do not know the burden of ruling. We need power before we can display it. A marriage, _this_ marriage, gives us leverage. He can not fight us if his own daughter lives here, if his grandchildren are born Martells." Doran had decided to use the tactics of the father against the now crowned son. If a pawn was an acceptable role for Elia to play then Oberyn could play it all the same. "Go to King's Landing, make nice with our enemies. Let them feel secure in their peace; they needn't know what is to come. You know better than any, I'm always doing more than I let on."

"Finally planting seeds for your master plan?" A jest, truly. Both brothers had been crafting an exquisite destruction for years, but patience and the waiting had begun to sour the younger of the two long ago.

"I have been gardening for years, with many seeds and all different fields. Should you do what I need of you, all that will be left is to watch them take root, simply reap the fruits of our harvests." Doran knew that his will would be done, hesitantly or not; Dorne would have another Consort Princess and the Martells will catch themselves another dragon.

"I suppose I should be leaving soon then, yes?" Oberyn stepped out from their shaded cove an into the warm glow of the Dornish sun. "You would allow me to bring some of my girls with me, no? I think it would be best if they could learn of their new step-mother before we are married."

"I would agree with you, and I think you should, but I am far too aware of what you mean." Doran gave his brother a pointed look; Dorne was lax in many customs, King's Landing was not, and Oberyn would love to poke fun. "I appreciate that Ellaria has made you happy and I bless her for the daughters she has given you, but you cannot bring her into that court. Not only is her bastardry a concern to them, but you'd be bringing your lover to a marriage to another woman, the King's daughter no less. They would find that a disgrace and a slight to King Rhaegar's good faith." Doran sighed. "But I know you too well; you'll most likely bring her anyway."

Oberyn left the palace with a smile on his face. If he was going to endure that stinking shit-pile of a city, he would do it his way.

Doran arranged for his brother's travel and the nobles that would be joining the retinue, he could only hope that Oberyn would be mindful of his actions whilst in the capital.


	13. Arrival

It has now been almost a fortnight since the announcement and Ser Manfrey's arrival. I have to admit that I quite like the man, he's kind and he's friendly. He often makes time to speak to me when he's not in the council meetings on Dorne's behalf.

Prince Oberyn has yet to arrive, though every couple of days we get letters from different castles stating that they've seen his retinue pass through. Every letter a little bit closer, everyday another short of my freedom.

We've heard the gossip that come with those letters as well. Supposedly the prince has decided to bring his paramour along with him as well as two of his daughters and his niece, Arienne. Meaning that there will be a whole tits worth of uppity Dornish ready to judge the King's backwater bastard as a miscreant. Part of me hopes they will, and that such a proud people would never stain their long and historied lineage with such.

I'm quite accustomed to being a deviant to those with proper eyes. Being considered one of the lowest of the lows makes you unencumbered, gives you freedoms lords and ladies never have.

I was never meant to be anything beyond someone's bastard. I had just about coped with the idea of never knowing and I miss the freedoms it gave me. I never had to think about furthering a line or bettering my family's standings; I never had to concern myself with marriage the way Sansa and Robb do. I had a choice; whom to marry, when, why, or even if. I'll never get that back.

I have to make them like me, or at least tolerate me. I'll be living with them for the rest of my life. What choice do I have?

The complete stranger I'm to marry will be arriving within a sennight and I'm only now just realizing how much better it was to be a nobody.

Perhaps I'm no longer worried about him killing me; I might return to the nothing I came from. The Prince would be doing me a favor, putting me out of my misery. Why would I want to live in a world where I can't hideout at Winterfell or Seagard when I please?

Gods, I'll never go north again will I? Never trudge the swamp or swim the Trident, never hunt the Wolf's Wood or hear the promise of when the white winds blow? These will be the last months I spend with these people, with my family.

I'm not usually a very morose person, I can only hope it's due to the rapid change and homesickness. I'm sure I'm just exaggerating things and this man isn't as terrible as the stories make him out to be.

Maybe the Gods want me to be reflective, see something in my past that might help with my future. I would hope that they are listening, seeing as I choose to hideaway by the long dead stump of a Weirwood in the gardens. It's one of the few places where almost no one bothers me.

Catelyn said that I can't keep thinking as if this marriage is the end of the world. That if I haven't at least put on an act by the time they arrive I'll have offended the Dornish as a whole. And the politics of it all _have_ to matter to me now. I can't think and act so free spirited when the country could very well go to war.

Supposedly my marriage saves Kings Landing from the expense of a war with Dorne. I wasn't even aware the Dornish were that angry. I guess taverns in the Riverlands aren't the best place to learn politics.

I have these few days to spend as the girl I've always been with the people I've always known. And yet I need to prepare for the life I have been dealt to live. It's going to be near impossible to do both, but I've got to try. I can't look like some dumb northern farm girl when the retinue arrives.

I hope Manfrey won't mind giving me a crash course in all things Dorne.

**~'~**

The Red Keep began filling with guests; some for matters of diplomacy or business, others began arriving in the hopes to watch the extravagance of a royal wedding unfold. Lords and ladies from all over coming months in advance for the festivities; making their approval or distress heard. There hadn't been a royal wedding since the King's. And many remembered how well that one had gone.

One of these such people was the Lord of Griffin's Roost, Jon Connington. A storied man. Having served as Hand to the Mad King and been exiled in defeat, only to then be granted release by the new. One of Rhaegar's closets friends during those times; many find it suspect his absence from court.

Jon was looked over for the position of Hand to his dear old friend, though the man would not have taken the position even if it was given. These were not the days of old and Rhaegar was not a young man anymore. Lord Connington could hardly recognize him; the years were not kind and neither had been the Throne.

He remembers how much of the young Prince's life had been about striving for the Iron Throne, what he'd do when he got there. It seems that all those dreams and all those plans had drowned in the Trident. _Either the Throne corrupts you or the journey to it does_ , Jon thought.

Perhaps the Silver Prince he knew would still be here if the journey had been easier, different. If Rhaegar's home coming hadn't been bloodshed and invasion. If ravens hadn't carried vile falsehoods, if Tywin Lannister hadn't acted upon them.

 _I can still hear them_ , the bells clanging in his ears as if it was the false spring all over again. The war was won but the cost was still being paid. His Silver Prince lives but in what form? His reign and presence stunted by the Copper King who sits his place.

Lord Connington is a regretful man now. Many say the Trident the most important battle, but the griffin could still remember the Stoney Sept. Battle of the bells, they call it. Running from house to house, bells ringing in his ears, sword in hand ready to take the Usurper on. What a different world it would have been if he had.

Robert Baratheon had died either way, but the Stranger is always in the details. There would have been no real reason to fight at the Ruby ford. The false king would have been dead, no need for good men on either side to lose their lives that day. Rhaegar wouldn't be a shadow of himself, either. Though Jon doubts it was killing Robert that made him that way. If he had dealt with Robert at the Stoney Sept as planned, Tywin Lannister would've had no reason nor opportunity to sack the city.

Jon knows not the business with the Stark girl, but Princess Elia and her children would still be alive to this day, of that he had no doubts. There would be problems with the lions of the west, nor the spears to the south. If only he hadn't failed.

Others spoke and thought of failure as well. The hushed tones of secret plans held and rearranged between spiders and cobwebs. The frustrated sighs and angered fumes swirling around locked rooms and council chambers. Only birds could hear all their musings.

In one of the fine rooms reserved for the wedding guests, the great lion of the rock was giving a good dressing down to his cubs. The calculated man looked over his children, all unwed and seemingly useless.

"We have an opportunity. You must not waste your time here at court. You're unmarried and alliances need to be made."

"Alliances? Its a royal wedding... and we aren't at war." Replied the knight behind the endless whispers and the current object of Prince Viserys strife.

"It may shock you to learn the King hasn't arranged a marriage to a man with amble children and no need of an heir out of common courtesy." The former Hand of the King continued in his unforgiving and patronizing tone.

"You have reason to believe it will fall through, then?" The youngest of the lions gave question. He was a man of short stature but a high and heavy intellect, and he often spent time wondering why he had to suffer being been born a Lannister.

"The Martell's aren't very good at _successful_ marriages." The often cruel and conniving Cersei simply couldn't help but let the insult slide off her tongue. Still bitter over the denied marriage to the then prince and the continued overlooking of the now King.

"Cynicism ages you, and there is still time yet for you to wed and breed." Tywin chided his only daughter, the one who had managed to ruin or end every engagement her father had given her. "Our old and noble house has yet to reach its potential; we could build the greatest dynasty known to man or crumble back into fables told to children." He turned his attention back to his sons.

"I am already married, in case you've forgotten. I'm afraid I'll be of little use to you in this endeavor."

"Whores, does not a marriage make" Cersei muttered before taking a sip of her wine. Tyrion was the only thing she knew she could belittle indefinitely, and she took pride in doing so with every given opportunity.

"For once you may be right: I will find little use of you. But you are a Lannister and you will do your duty." Tywin was over their incessant bickering and forced the topic back to matters of importance. "The country is thinly veiled in this blanket of peace, war will come to us with or without this wedding. Every time one of the rebel leaders comes to this city they fall ill or meet untimely ends to which their people suspect foul play, and the Dornish are keen on their grudges. And we mustn't forget how much the Greyjoys want their pride back. When the fault lines shift and everyone prepares for the enevatible, we need to be the ones with the most power. House Lannister is going to the house that _survives_."

"What do you have in mind?"

In dark halls, deep within the castle where men without secrets fear to go and the surface-dwellers know not, a foreigner plots with the disguised. The two have had these meetings many times before; hushed words full of treason and the like, dark corners, scripted and riddled letters sent between old friends. The two masterminds in their own element of plain and unknown sight.

"There is a new contender, our game has gotten itself a new piece." The man with an oil-slicked and forked yellow beard comments, easily keeping pace despite his large size.

"Not a surprise, one of them was bound to emerge soon enough. Perhaps a better option than the rest; grounded in reality, having lived with the people rather than above them. Though lacking powerful friends." The other a bald man, perhaps even hairless one could say, continued in a voice unfrageranted by any accent to most ears.

"We've never strayed from a challenge, you can always fix a friendless champion. In fact, I believe you're quite drawn to them. Nevertheless, we shall have to wait and see what part this one shall play, how big of a role to give her." The rich man's Pentoshi accent almost echoing across the barren halls above the black cells.

"I've been watching and, should this wedding go as well as I've planned, we may go without a king. Our goal grows closer yet."

"Then by all means, the real work begins."

**~'~**

It was a hard job, filling Jon's shoes, and the man had taught Eddard nearly everything he knew. Governing in the south is different than the North, that he knew, but how far of a difference there was continued to strike him.

He hadn't been in King's Landing a year and yet he could already feel the city taking a toll on him. The people less honest and mere smiles could be taken suspect. In all 35 years of his life Eddard had never truly learned to read and work around those gifted with conniving and deceitful intent. 

He had barely the time to spend with his family and now that there was a wedding in the works it was even less so. Making agreements with this lord, bargains with that, and the council meetings were almost always derailed. It had become so tedious that each agenda had to separate to its own meeting. And Eddard had been given a seat on each council.

The first being matters of state and the preservation of the realm. What goods were needed of each kingdom. What taxes could and shouldn't be raised. What debts were owed and paid for. What small rebellions or skirmishes, if any, needed to be dealt with. And the question that always got brought up and was never truly answered: who will the King name his heir. Ned was most comfortable in these councils; he was Warden of the North and had much experience in those types of governance and diplomacy. Gathering resources and sending them to those in need was something he dealt with often: some winters were harsher than others, some lands faired better than others in summer.

The second was a smaller council than the first and was a topic the northern lord felt most out of place in: strategy and alliances. Whom to work with and for what, who should marry who, threats to the Crown, secret plots and the like. The North wasn't about strategies and secret plots, it was banding together to survive the winter and how you could help your fellow man. It was in these meetings that he learned how close to the brink they had gotten, how deep seated the insatiblity was rooted. And most concerningly, how far rivalries were willing to go. The power struggles were real and Rhaeger's rule was the thin thread holding it together.

The third was smaller still and Eddard could not find reason as to why such a matter would even need a council of its own. A marriage council; surely if the wedding was already arranged and sanctioned, why was there a need for further discussion? Nevertheless, these meetings were more frequent than the others. And Eddard watched meeting after meeting as King Rhaegar and Ser Manfrey seemingly bargained over the same topics without end.

It was on such a day that the concern of wedding arrangements were being brought up. The small council chamber was usually filled with Lord Varys and Ser Manfrey alongside the King and Eddard, but as finances were needed Lord Tywin had joined.

"Why is this still being discussed? It's a wedding, it shall go as all weddings have gone before it." The Master of Coin stated, wishing they had focused their attention and time on more important matters.

"And if it were your daughter, you'd think differently." Rhaegar responded coolly, in attempts to keep the civility between the group.

"If it were my daughter and House Lannister the Crown was marrying, the realm would be the better for it. You have _no_ heir and have yet to announce a successor, and yet you waste time trying to please Dorne?"

"It is _you_ who would benefit from such a marriage, _not_ the realm. I am not alone in believing the Lannisters would see this country fall for their bettering. Men of war do not fair well in times of peace." Ser Manfrey added, the underlying detest clear in the drawl of his accent.

"Times of peace? Were you not threatening to sussed? The only war for years was that of Dornish independence." The steel of Lord Tywin's voice never changing, the idea of Dorne claiming the high road arrogant. The man almost wanted to take the southerners up on their offer; to crush them on field, weed them out like the parasites they'd become. _Good riddance_ , the great lion thought.

"We are not here to criminalize one another. If you cannot be civil, I will have to ask you to leave. Tywin, I asked you here to assess budgetary matters, nothing more." Rhaegar had to be the one who spoke the loudest in the room, he could not allow Tywin to seize authority.

"The feast is coming together. The Tyrell's have had a bountiful harvest and are being most generous. The Arbor has already sent us twenty caskets of their summer and red wine." Lord Varys wisely shifted the dialogue back to the present and away from the historic quarrelling of the houses.

"The North is sending our best hunts, boar, venison, and the like. And the Riverlands follow suit." Eddard stated, feeling as though it best to drive the group further into the arrangements being made. While Ned had no love for the Lannisters, he felt no need to join the Dornish knight in public sentiment, he kept his disdain reserved.

"I have no concerns over the feast, Targaryens always inspire finery. It is the ceremony we bring requests for." Manfrey had a list from one brother and commands from the other. Both of his cousins wishing to instill a more Dornish feel to the ancient and conventional traditions.

"Prince Oberyn does not wish to get married in the light of the seven? Royal weddings have taken place in the Great Sept for generations." Rhaegar questioned, not truly wanting to know the contingencies of his once good brother.

"The faith isn't the question, he does not want it to be a repeat of his _sister's_ wedding. An event of which I'm sure you can remember, and for reasons you could not forget." Ser Manfrey answered almost stoically, feeling as if he shouldn't have even needed to state the obvious.

"I will have to speak to Oberyn on that matter." The King sighed. Manfrey was right; how could he ever forget that wedding, his wedding, and how happy Elia had been. Wanting to change the subject, he turned to the man of few words, "If there are adjustments to be made to the ceremony, does Syrana favor your Old Gods, Eddard?"

"She has in the past, found more peace by a heart tree than a Sept. But I'm sure that's different now." Eddard did not know much of King's Landing nor the King himself, but what he did know was of the war of the new Princess' appearance. Her faith in the Old Gods was dangerous here; making her too much of Syrana Rivers when she needed to be entirely Syrana Targaryen.

The rest of the meeting continued on as planned. Tywin commenting on expenses and how much extravagance the Crown could afford. Varys listing of what lands and lords were contributing to the feast. Manfrey making suggestions on the entertainment.

Rhaegar's mind was otherwise occupied, knowing that a visit to Dorne's Red Viper was not going to be pleasant. In truth they had not seen each other since Elia had died, 15 years is a long time and Rhaegar was sure the wound had festered for every minute of it.

**~'~**

I hadn't gotten the chance to speak with the Dornishmen, he was preoccupied after his usual morning meeting with the King. I had ran into Catelyn and was having lunch with her in the gardens instead.

"It won't all be terrible you know. I remember how scared I was when Ned had first brought me north, but even the harshest of northmen soon warmed to me. And you are not a hard person to like, you'll make a home in Dorne." Catelyn had always been able to read my mind, to soothe what worried me like every mother did her own children.

"I think I'm more worried over the Prince rather than his people."

"Rumors and court gossip are not a good judge of character. Afterall, Brynden isn't as rowdy as 'the Blackfish' people project onto him, is he? I don't think Prince Oberyn is as savage a man as the stories would tell. He is a knight, and I doubt the King would marry his only daughter to a man without morals." She reminded me, reaching out her hand to squeeze mine in reassurance.

"Still, he's known to have an... _appetite_ " I muttered softly, shoulders slumping while I fiddled with my hands in my lap. Despite how often I hang out in taverns with drunk pikemen and how little care I've shown for the prim and proper rules of being lady-like, I was still a maid as scared as any other of her wedding night.

"All men, noble or not, are known too. They are not held to the same standard as we. Take his experience as a good thing, it is easy to get hurt the first time."

I knew Catelyn was having a hard time putting the Prince's whoring in a favorable light. I already knew his experience was a good thing; Theon's favorite, Ros had complained on and on about how easy it was for them and how complex it was for us. It was the fact that I would always be an after thought that I was struggling with. Perhaps it was because the people whom I wanted to claim me never could and that I couldn't ever truly feel as though I had a place with them.

A husband is the one place I knew I'd be able to feel secure, loved and wanted without complications and technicalities. Ned and Brynden could not love me like their daughter in the way that I wish they could. They love me that much is true, but they couldn't praise my achievements or show me off as if I were their own. I was loved the way Jon was, out of the public and sometimes only behind closed doors. A husband was going to be the one to love me publicly, privately, and proudly.

But Oberyn Martell would not be that man. I couldn't claim him even if I wanted to; I wasn't his first or second or third, I doubted if I was even close to his twentieth. And his heart no doubt belonged to his paramour, this Ellaria Sand my chamber maids were gossiping about. He already had eight children, so why on earth would he ever need me? My life would be that of an ornament placed on a shelf for decoration; soon forgotten and cast aside, utterly alone.

As if sensing my inner crisis over purpose, Catelyn added, "Mayhaps you give him a son. All men desire a male heir whether they tell it or not. You can take comfort in that hope. Find joy in whatever children you have, they shall fill you days and warm your heart as all children do."

I had no time to mull over the thought; our lunch was interrupted and my safety net burst.

"My Lady, Your Grace, forgive the intrusion. Princess, I have been asked to retrieve you, the Dornish retinue have arrived. Your father, the King would like to present you your husband, Prince Oberyn Martell."


	14. The Many Sides of Oberyn Martell

It had been just after their meeting when Lord Tywin and Varys had left the council chambers, that a squire had informed the remaining three men of the Prince's arrival.

"Eddard, make sure Prince Oberyn's retinue find their way to their rooms, and bring the Prince to me would you?" Rhaegar sighed, answering absent mindfully as he looked over the various papers spread across the table.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I'm afraid the Prince is not in the Keep." The squire spoke before Eddard had a chance to leave.

"Pray tell, boy, why is that?" Rhaegar stood from the table, staring down the child in frustration.

"Ser Dalt had told me the Prince and his paramour arrived before them, most likely in the late hours of the night."

"And do you know where Prince Oberyn might be?" Ned asked, his eyes more kind to the boy.

The question was not one that needed answering, both the King and Ser Manfrey had known exactly where the infamous Red Viper would be.

"That's no matter, I shall find our late Prince. Eddard, make sure the Dornishmen are in acceptable conditions, make them aware of the feast I'll be holding tonight." He instructed, dismissing the squire offhandedly. "Barristan, fetch the Princess, make sure she's dressed for the occasion. I'll be back within the hour, and with our guest." He caught the King's guard before making his own exit from the room.

Rhaegar had two white cloaks on his tail as he made his way through the Red Keep and down onto the city streets. His feet making a steady and sure path towards the Street of Silks, to the brothel owned by a man he knew better than to trust.

The smell had hit him before he entered the building; perfumes, spiced wine, and carnal sweat. His only pleasure being that Tywin had sent Littlefinger out of some financial inquires; Rhaegar had grown to find the man's presence offsetting.

He need only listen for the unmistakable drawl of the Dornish tongue to locate the group. Having told his men to wait for him outside the whore house, Rhaegar slid through sheer, silken curtains.

"I had hoped the rumors had been unfound." He stated announcing his presence. The orgy that had met him was two-three; Oberyn being entertained by Petyr's most requested male and two whores were transfixed on the woman Rhaegar assumed the Prince's paramour.

All three of the paid bedfellows had made their leave after noticing and bowing to their sovereign, garments thrown on in haste. This Sand woman, if he remembered correctly, simply smiled at him as sly as a fox, "My King, I would be honored if you join us."

"I'm sure it would." Rhaegar remarked steel eyed, walking further into the room only after affirming Oberyn had his breeches on. "I think it would be best if you left us, we have business. Though I'm sure you're charming."

Ellaria kept her smirk as she slinked out of the room, only doing so after silent approval from her lover.

"What rumors? That people are keeping secrets from you? Or that you need better guards?" Oberyn replied to Rhaegar's first remark, lazily throwing on a silken shirt.

"The capital always keeps its secrets and my guards could always do better, these are facts I'm sure you're aware of. I was referring to how good a profit Baelish makes off of buggery." Rhaegar answered pointedly.

"A good thing I do not seek your approval." The older of the two smiled, the viper eyes observing the King as if he were an enemy.

Rhaegar watched as the once exiled knight poured himself a goblet of Dornish Red. "You also thought it to be a good idea to bring your... _paramour_ to court, when you will wed my daughter. You don't think that an offense?" Thinking him too uncouth in his uncaring demeanor towards the reputation of the royal house.

"An offense? To your highness, I wouldn't dream of it." Oberyn answered, taking a sip of wine before getting to the point of his grievance. "I remember the last time I was here. _Her_ wedding. I should hope you would remember it too." It was his turn to share a pointed glare.

"How could I forget? Your sister was kind and beautiful-"

"You can't even say her name. How _good_ of you to have some guilt." The dornish man chided.

"I do not wish to fight with you, Oberyn." Rhaegar knew too well that there was no way to win this argument, but seeing as he couldn't stop what was now started, he would have to at least try. "You know as well as I that she was never meant for a place like this. This city and its viscous gossip swallowed her whole."

"The city? Leaving her for another woman, a child at that, was _you_. Keeping her here unguarded and in the hands of your father, was _you_. Who was there when the Mountain got to her?"

"I should not have left her without men I trusted. I wasn't expecting Tywin to invade, I assumed he'd have more respect for the crown. In that regard you are right." It was a mistake Rhaegar thought of often, there could have been two men at the Tower not three.

"So you will take blame in her death, but you will not mourn her? As if it were some hapless thing, Elia's death unavoidable even." The Viper poised to strike, his word soaked in venom.

"If I take blame, so should you. You're her brother, claiming to love her more than anyone else has or will. So where were you? When the Lannisters sacked the city and Elia was all alone, what high horse surrounded by whores where _you_ found on?"

"Perhaps I should have expected your arrogance to start a war and kill my sister. I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time."

"For that matter, yes, Elia's death was inevitable. She was frail and delicate as it were. But each child drew her nearer to the Stranger's grasp, bedridden for months, unconscious for others, they were killing her. But the protective little brother wasn't here for that either."

"If children were killing her why have more? Why put her through that again knowing the outcome?"

"You have no idea the expectation of royalty. I needed heirs. I was next in line for the throne, my line needed to prosper. The kingdom expected it, your mother knew it, your sister accepted it."

"You only ever needed the two, why try for a third? There was no need to go looking to father bastards, but you did that anyway."

"And here I thought Dorne was more accepting of bastards, none more than you. Elia knew who she was marrying, she knew what she was entangling herself in. I needed children, and enough of them to know they'd survive. How many failed pregnancies have each our mothers had? How many stillbirths? How many babes died in cradles before you yourself were born?"

"You would put the hardships of my parents on my sister? You pick the sterility of Targaryen inbreeding for reason of infidelity?" Rhaegar's reasoning was cruel and unjust, Oberyn was near fuming. "And you expect me to marry the product of this? The embodiment of Elia's suffering?"

"What I expect of you is that of every man, woman, and child living under my rule: do your duty to the realm, and what is asked of you by the crown. I require you to seal this treaty between your house and mine for the safety of the realm, our people need not go to war. To disagree is treason, I need not remind you. If you find yourself incapable-"

"I'm more than capable of doing my duty. But I think you'll find that you should be careful what you wish for." All tension drained from his face, the air of malice and contempt evaporating from his being as if it were never there. The Red Viper ever elusive, returning to the shadows under the visage of the bold Dornish Prince. "I suppose I should meet my wife, no?"

Rhaegar stood stiff as Oberyn adorned himself in citrine and burnt orange robes, still shocked over the abrupt change in atmosphere.

As the two made their way through the city and into the halls of the Red Keep, Rhaegar couldn't help but feel as if he'd made a mistake. The Red Viper was far more unpredictable than he had remembered, perhaps Tywin had been right in calling him half-mad.

Maybe Oberyn was just toying with him. Get him to call off the wedding; bring shame to Dorne and further the cause for their independence. Maybe the Prince thought he should be feared; being the only man to scare a king has a certain ring to it. Oberyn wanted to play cat and mouse; to confuse him, frustrate him, he wasn't sure.

What he did know was that they were in the game now, and only one of them could win.

~'~

Apparently what I was already wearing wasn't good enough to meet the Prince of Dorne. Therefore, as I was being dressed in something tight and revealing, Mierda and her daughters caught me up in the courts gossip on the incoming Dornishmen.

"I've heard he's quite handsome, a shock really, most noblemen in their 40s are rather lardish" Juliane giggled at her older sister's remark.

"I guess I should be glad I'm not left to a lard then." I grimaced as the strings on the black corset were pulled even tighter. Huffing in protest to the constriction on my lungs, "As much as first impressions matter, I'm sure I could dress in a sack of flour and it wouldn't matter; the man is infamous for fucking half of westeros and they say he's taken with boys, too."

"You don't really mean that, hun." The older woman soothes, adjusting pieces of the silken fabric here and there. "You're just frustrated with the situation, is all. And first impressions do matter, you'll be building a life with this man, you don't want his first thought of ya to be sour."

"My thoughts will be consumed with trying not to slip a nip in this dress." I murmured to no one in particular, pulling the bust of the dress up higher.

Taking a look in the mirror, I could agree that Mierda and her girls had done a fine job. The dress was a stark black against the shine of my silver hair. It was low cut, putting my breasts on full display and strapless, leaving my shoulders bare. The silhouette of the dress flowed out from the tight bodice, making my waist look thinner and my hips wider, the skirt was large and made me take up far more space than I would like. My hair was pulled back into thin braids from my temples, where they met in the back Safaya had placed a jewelled dragon.

"At least I'm dressed for the funeral of my freedom." I sighed.

One last eye roll of defiance and I straightened my back, sucked up my feelings, and headed out into the hall for Ser Barristan to lead me to my betrothed.

"So, Ser Barristan, when did this Prince arrive?" I asked tentatively as the famed knight lead on.

"Some odd hour before the sun, it would appear."

"You'd think the whole castle would know by now,"I replied as more of a question than a statement.

"He wasn't in the Keep, Princess." His tone calm throughout.

Before I had a chance to ask where he had been instead, the grand, gilded doors of the Throne room where upon us. The tall marbled pillars stood sentry, the echoes of my own footsteps bouncing off the vaulted ceilings inviting me further in.

"And there she is." Rhaegar's voice drawing me to himself and a man of Dornish coloring dressed in fine silk lined robes, and by the bronze and copper suns embroidered on his tunic, I guessed him to be Oberyn Martell. "Syrana, let me introduce you: Prince Oberyn Martell, second son of Dorne, and the famed Red Viper." He began as I had finally joined the two men.

The rumors were not wrong, he was quite handsome. He had a thin athletic frame and strong square shoulders, highlighted well by the cut of his robes. The Red Viper indeed. Prince Oberyn had viperine eyes, calculating as they sized me up. Wide and charming dimples offset the intensity of his gaze, he had a well groomed mustache and a chin strap beard across his structured jaw. His lips displaying an arrogant and cocky smirk as he spoke with a honeyed Dornish drawl.

"The whole way here, all people could talk about was how the King's long lost daughter looked like my dead sister. How fortunate for you they must have never met Elia, your beauty is of a different kind than hers, ... _flower_." He spoke the pet name against the back of my hand after having kissed it.

His words were smooth and charming, his eyes piercing and suggestive; I didn't trust him at all. "Prince Oberyn, I'm honored you think such." I offered a tight smile, slightly pulling my hand out of his warm and rough grasp. " I'm pleased you made the journey, I hope it wasn't trying."

His eyes squinted ever so slightly, his smirk returning, he must find my resistance interesting.

"We can speak later of further arrangements," Rhaegar addressed the dornishman. He sent me a look, silently commanding me to do my duty: keep the Prince entertained and make him like me. "I'll leave you two to get further acquainted." Rhaegar announced before leaving, with Ser Barristan following him out the doors I had previously come through.

"Take a walk with me, yes?" The tall, southerner stood with an arm outstretched, as if guiding the way out. "I believe I remember the way to the gardens."

I had expected him to offer me his arm and was slightly startled when his hand hand snaked its way to the small of my back, keeping me in pace with himself and well within reach.

I had no idea where or how to start and was quite thankful that he had spoke first.

"I would imagine they don't have many favourable things to say about the Martells or Dorne where you are from. You look frightened, do I scare you flower?" The curl of his lips and the sway of his walk were enchanting, I could tell he was that got what he wanted quite often.

"Neither Eddard nor Hoster find purpose in speaking ill of people, especially those they don't know. The only thing I know of Dorne, is that you fought well and barely won the Trident." I answered honestly and quick to defend the honor of both men. "The rest, I'm sure, is just rumors and the talk of drunk men in taverns."

"But the scandals of taverns are always the most colorful allegations; which ones have you heard?"

"Just the classics: Dornishmen being half-mad and your brothels are supposedly the best outside of King's Landing." I answered timidly.

"I appreciate you sparing my feelings, but I know you've heard worse."

"Yes, but I've heard those here. The men of the Riverlands are far too preoccupied trash talking the Late Lord Walder Frey to be bothered with a country that's half a world away." I paused before trying to change the subject. "Why do you want to know what people are saying about you anyways?"

"I'm more interested in what you've heard than what they're saying. I need to know how much of your mind I need to change, what preconceived notions you have of the world you're going to live in."

Right... cause I'll be living in Dorne after this. "Whoring and anger management issues just about cover it. And I like to think that I'm intelligent enough to know that gossip and the truth are rarely friends. But since you're concerned about my judgements, what about yours? What... backwater farm girl were you expecting?" I tried my best to bite my tongue, but I was tired of being in the hot seat.

He smiled at my comment, a sincere smile that showed the whites of his teeth and made him look far less dangerous than I had thought.

"It's good that you have bite as well as beauty; Dorne is not suited for the meek." He smiled in approval, seating us at a table along the edge of the garden's cliffs. "I did not know who you were, so there was nothing to expect."

"You had no expectations, yet you assumed I'd have a poor view of your family and your country?" I retorted, raising my eyebrow.

"Expect nothing and no one can disappoint you." He answered, turning his gaze to the sea, watching the waves roll in from Backwater Bay. His answer felt as though it was for someone else, somewhere else.

"That's quite a lot of cynicism for a prince,"

He sighed in response, still watching the waves break. "In my experience, King's Landing has a habit of bringing out the worst in people."

" _People_ bring out the worst in people. You can't blame a place someone's actions or who they are." Getting to know this man would be complicated; he was firey and flirtatious one minute and then serious and distant the next. I couldn't tell if he was playing a mind game or not.

"I remember looking out of this bay with my sister. Everyday before her wedding, she would drag me off to the cliffside and rant or rave about how nervous and excited she was. How she was going to make us all proud and how scared she was of... disappointing."

After a semi-uncomfortable silence, Oberyn seemingly remembered I was still here and turned his focus back to me.

"This is a marriage that neither of us can get out of, it's purely political. I won't force anything on you, nor will I hold you to our marriage bed. I won't make your life miserable and you won't make mine. Rhaegar gets his alliance and the rest of us go back to our lives."

And with that he left me to sea; confused, relieved, and... disappointed.


	15. Dressing The Part

I wanted time away from the castle, and I didn't want to think about the wedding or the strange man I was going to be marrying. So I devised a _brilliant_ plan to get lost in the Kingswoods under the guise of taking the Stark Direwolves for a walk. Of course Arya had to join me, meaning that with her big mouth and over-excitement, Bran and Rickon now wanted to come as well. Catelyn preferred the latter to stay with her and Robb went along with us to watch over his younger siblings.

The kennel master was deeply confused as to why we were taking all the wolves, and concerned as to how the four of us would wrangle them, but he couldn't rightly refuse a royal. So here our little pack was, walking the trails through the Kingswood, far from the noise of the court.

"Why won't they let us keep our wolves with us? It's not fair. They're not even that big yet." Bran whined, as he watched his wolf tussle and playfight with its pack mates.

"Well, there are a lot of guests in the Keep right now, and pretty much all of them aren't used to people having they're pet _dogs_ with them. Most of them don't even know that Direwolves exist." Robb explained.

"Not all of your wolves are as well mannered as Summer or Lady are, Bran. Could you imagine Shaggydog running through the castle?" I added with a slight chuckle.

"Now, that's something I would pay to see. Our pack running through all the boring court people? At least I wouldn't have to go to 'tea' with Sansa." Arya grinned wildly, as if she could see it now.

"If only you could train Nymeria better," Bran mocked, with the younger girl quickly chasing after him into the woods with their Direwolves in tow.

"Don't go too far!" Robb shouted a warning, probably in vain, at the two.

We walked in silence for a moment, Ghost and Greywind, Jon and Robb's wolves respectively, striding along with us. Shaggydog had long abandoned us to chase squirrels and Lady, Sansa's prim pup, followed with obedient silence. Every now and then I'd reach down and give a Ghost a scratch behind his ears.

"You know I wish I was there when you found them, snag a pup for my own." I mused, throwing a smile Robb's way. In the quiet of the woods I almost felt like I was back in the Riverlands, going on hunts with Patrek or Brynden.

"Now that'd be a sight; you and a wolf roaming the countryside." he joked, showing a playful smirk at the idea. "I haven't really seen you since the tourney, how's everything going with that..."

"I don't know." I huffed, "We start looking at dresses in a couple of days, which makes me think that the wedding is going to be way sooner than I thought. And I've spoken to Prince Oberyn once and that was a sennenight ago." I sighed, my frustration with all this court business becoming evident. "Clearly, everything is going _great_."

"I'm sorry, I know that none of this is what you had in mind. I can't imagine you picking out fancy dresses. Is he avoiding you, do you think? Or is he playing games? Maybe he wants you to seek him out?"

"Maybe. But he ended the conversation kinda detached, like 'this is all for show, when we return to Dorne we can live separate lives'. What am I supposed to do with that?" I groaned. "Oh, and I have no say over the dress, I'm just there to make sure whatever is picked fits."

"Sounds like you're about to spiral."

"Gods, I hope not." I responded through an exhale. At least someone was concerned.

"You know, when we were younger and someone would tell you no a few too many times, you'd bolt. Like when Ser Rodrick refused to train you in arms while you were with us. And you kept asking for days and days and then he finally kicked you out of one of our spars, you ran off in a fit and we didn't hear from you until Ser Jason sent that you'd run there."

"I forgot how often I did that." I recalled, it wasn't one of my finer moments. "You know I used to run because I didn't want anyone to get sick of me? I figured no one would ever get bored of me if they only had me in doses. Never stay too long in one place or I'll overstay my welcome." I sighed, in recognition of the missed opportunities due to my abandonment issues. "The liberties you can take when you don't belong anywhere. I wish I could just leave. Leave the court, the castle, this stupid wedding. Things were so much easier when I was just Brynden's ward, a nobody."

"You'll always have a place in Winterfell, you know that, and I'm sure the same can be said of Riverrun and Seagard. And you were never a nobody. Not to me, not to my mother or my father, not to Brynden, not to Jon, not to Patrek, and Arya idolises you, you know that?... Just because you were a _wanderer_ and you don't have any of our names doesn't mean that you aren't one of us. You were never unwanted." Robb's sincerity was like a weighted blanket, almost too heavy for the comfort it gives.

"You are so much like Ned and Cat, it's actually painful."

"You're deflecting..." Robb drawled, pointedly. He knew me better than I'd like him to.

"I am." I sucked in a breath, pushing it out my nose before opening the floodgates. "I'm going to vent, and...you did ask for this, so..."

"Fair point" Robb crossed his arms but his smile never left.

"Nothings ever going to be the same again." I announced, letting the fear swirl around the trees and sink into the soil like fresh rain.

"Course not, you weren't a princess before." he shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. He never did like seeing anyone upset.

"Yeah, but that's not it though. Obviously, there's the marriage and everything, _wonderful_. No where near used to people calling me a Targaryen and now I'm supposed to be a Martell, and I don't really know what either of those mean. Completely unprepared."

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure my mother never knew what being a Stark meant until she was one, either." he pointed out.

"Thanks for the faith, but that's different and you know it. Ned is a good man, on all accounts. The only bad thing people can really say about him is Jon and no one really knows the whole story about that anyways." I paused, making sure I could still distantly hear Arya and Bran shouting at each other. "I've never been to Dorne, never met anyone from there, don't really know what they're like. It's on the other side of the continent. But the Dornish on the other hand, have a lot of history with Targaryens, none of it good. Sure I could claim you lot as my backing house, but they don't really like the Starks either."

"That's because of the Rebellion and what happened with the Dayne's and...Lyanna. So it's recent and....specific, more the people than the House. And I'm sure not all of them think like that."

"Alright, _fine_ you have a point." I put my hands up in surrender, despite rolling my eyes. Sighing before I continue on, " _My_ point is I won't know anyone there, I'll be alone. There's nowhere for me to run nearby for comfort. I can't just show up on somebody's doorstep and go hunting or take turns beating each other in a sparr. I'll probably never see you again. I'll be trapped in a world I don't understand, with people I don't know, forced to play someone's incubator for the rest of my life."

"You can always run, take a horse and ride like the Others are after you. And I don't think anyone can make you do something you don't want to. I have the bruises as proof." Robb knocks my arm in jest before returning serious. "If they hurt you, if he hurts you - you know where we all are, and we take care of our own. 'The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives'."

"You know I am capable of taking care of myself, right? And I'd prefer if nobody dies."

_~'~_

"You're just letting this happen?"

Eddard was on his way to another council meeting, it appeared the Dornish had new demands, and Brynden Tully breathing down his neck was the last thing he needed at the moment. Especially considering no one had seen Syrana since morning.

"The King commands it. And neither of us are the girl's father, no matter how much we wish we were; we have no legal say in who she marries."

"This is not the time to put duty first." Brynden stopped Ned in his tracks, turning the man to face him. "We both care for that girl, raised her like she was ours. By the Gods, she's the closest I'll ever get to a kid of my own. I know I'm not going to stand back while she's sold off to some stranger, used like a throw away toy. She deserves better than that."

"The treaty is already signed, and the Dornish Prince is already here."

"I don't care about them Ned; if they need a marriage so bad, the King has a sister-"

"The girl, Daenerys, is too young for marriage. This _peace_ with Dorne is time sensitive, they're threatening war and recession-"

"Syrana is no pawn," he rebutled, bristling over a fight he knew neither of them could win.

"I'm trying my best to keep it that way, but I cannot help her if I am late to those meetings." the Quiet Wolf sighed, "Trust me to protect her. I'll tell you what I can later."

And with that the Blackfish watched the lone wolf enter the council chambers, knowing he was completely out of his depth.

"Will Prince Oberyn not be joining us?" Eddard asked Manfrey, seating himself to the right of the King.

"He is otherwise preoccupied, but I speak for both Princes of Dorne if that is your concern." the knight and castelean of Sunspeer answered in earnest. He full well knew that Oberyn would have nothing to do with these meetings and was _preoccupied_ in a brothel somewhere.

"I've heard Doran has changed his mind on some of our agreed upon terms?" Rhaegar wanted to get to the point; he was tired of all the back and forth and honestly wished the wedding and this treaty to be over and done with.

"Yes, there are some _amendments_ Prince Doran would like to make."

"Well, I don't have all day, tell us would you."

"To begin, the Dornish people require an apology for the countless lives lost during Robert's Rebellion." Dorne would never have sent troops to the Trident if Elia had not been prisoner in all but name, it was a war they wanted nothing to do with.

"People die, that's what happens in war. Next,"

"We demand you bring true justice to Elia and her children's murderer-"

"Clegane has been dealt with."

"You gave us a pawn, not the truth. Finally, Prince Doran emplores me to remind you that the peace will not be felt nor solidified until the marriage is proved true."

"To clarify, you are asking for the bedsheets of the wedding night, yes?" Varys, the last man in this meeting, implores the depth of said demand.

"You can't possibly ask that. Have you no thought for the shame that could bring the Princess?" Ned was unused to the distrust that accompanied all these southerners.

"Not the bedsheets, such things can be faked easily. And besides the Princess was not always the Princess, who's to say she's untouched?" Dorne was a very progressive place, women were treated the same as men; it didn't matter whether Syrana was a maid or not, it was more of a concern over the longevity of the marriage.

"I thought you a better man than to question a woman's honor-" You can take Eddard out of the North, but you can't take the North out of Eddard.

"Eddard, don't let your personal feelings get in the way of our bargaining; the girl was not always in my care and was running with all kinds of people before, Ser Manfrey may have a point." Rhaegar was quick to talk down to the Northerner in his irritation. These negotiations were dragging out further each meeting, he could only thank that Tywin had not been there to hear about the 'apology' Dorne had asked for. "What proof do you require?"

"All good marriages bear fruits-"

Rhaegar had cut the dornishmen off again, "Doran wants nieces and nephews to replace the ones he's lost, fine. Peace begins at the sept and is ratified with their firstborn, is that to be agreed?" Impatient and eager to be done with Dorne's games.

"All are in agreement, you have your witnesses, all that is left is the wedding. Have you picked a date? I know your guests grow weary of the time away from their castles."

"In a fortnight, the Targaryen-Martell wedding will take place on the first day of the fifth month." Rhaegar declared as the men stood from the chairs, all making their exits, glad to be done with these treaty meetings. "Eddard," he called his Hand before he could take his leave. "I hear my daughter is off hiding in the woods with your son. When you find the both of them to tell our _dearest_ Syrana that she'll be needed for fittings in the morning."

_~'~_

And to think yesterday was such a good day. 

Robb and I had managed to wrangle Bran and Arya, as well as returning all the wolves to the kennel master without too much of a fuss. I was just about feeling normal and how things were before, and then Ned had to be the bearer of bad news.

The wedding is in a fortnight and fittings for a dress I'll probably hate start today. At least Rhaegar had been kind enough to allow Catelyn to come, she'd be the only friendly face in the room.

I was pleased and surprised by how small the audience was once I'd arrived at the dressmaker's. It was only Rhaegar, Dany, Catelyn, and myself. I couldn't help but feel relieved when I had noticed none of the Martell guests had shown.

"I did invite the dornish to send someone to oversee and approve, but I suppose the wedding dress is the only detail Doran is not concerned with." the once famed 'Last Dragon' grumbled to himself as he left the comfort of the cushioned benches, presumably to find the dressmaker in one of the back rooms of his shop.

Before I even have a chance to turn to Cat for comfort, she already has a hand on my shoulder and a kind motherly half smile for support. She noticeably takes a seat on the sofa opposing that of the Targaryens.

In the center of the room is a wall of mirrors, shaped like the crescent of the moon, each one reflecting a different angle. In front of those mirrors and in view of the sofas was a small round, raised platform. Of which I'm sure I'm supposed to stand on and get scrutinised from.

"I'm _so_ excited! Rhae said he had some dresses already made up, so there's a few to choose from." Dany was so thrilled to be here, so blissfully naive of how political marriages work, she was angelic in her cheeriness. "Oh, and he also said that I could help you get ready on your wedding day. Only if you and the Ladies Arya and Sansa don't mind me joining, Lady Catelyn."

"They will be delighted as will I, Your Grace." Cat gave the girl a genuine smile and a humble bow of her head. Lady Cat was too kind, too generous. I usually loved her for it, but I only want the family I grew up with around me that morning, Gods know I'll have to put on a show the rest of the day.

It was all too soon when Rhaegar had reentered with the dressmaker. He was a rather gaunt and thin man of average height, who then immediately pushed me up onto the platform and began to undress me so he could take measurements over my shift. I felt naked, I didn't even know this man's name and here he was circling at every angle.

"The finest of gowns have been prepared at your request, Your Highness." His voice sounded billowy and far away, as if he was used to the quiet.

"Well then, lets get on with it. Surely one of the five shall do." Rhaegar crossed his arms in indifference as the man brought out a chest containing mountains of white fabric.

It appeared that this would take far longer than I'd hoped.

The first two options were easily eliminated from the running. The first gown was glittering with crystals, but was far to sheer and had a v-shaped neckline down to my navel. Clearly Catelyn agreed with bidding that one farewell for modesty's sake.

The second had a bodice made entirely of mesh, leaving sewn in scales and roses to cover my chest and arms. Much of the silhouette of the dress was made by a cluster of heavier silk at each hip, growing fuller until they met around my knees. Rhaegar disliked the roses referencing the Tyrells and Dany thought the design was 'unpleasing to the eye'.

The third dress had red silk acting like flames weaved up from the hemline. The bodice was encrusted with rubies and was so tight I could barely breathe, and the amount of tulle used in the skirts made it impossible to move.

"It's fine work, surely, but I think of all those stairs in the Great Sept." I wanted to thank Cat for her concern, but I was concentrating too hard on trying not to trip, _currently_.

"Your right, we don't need the people thinking of us as a laughing stock. And besides, those flames? It looks like I'm trying to prove who she is."

Seeing as the King's word is final this was the third dress to be thrown in the scrap pile.

Looking into those mirrors was hard, I didn't look like I should be wearing any of these dresses. It should be Sansa up here or Dany, not me.

The final two were quite similar; embroidered lace over the shoulder merged into a sweetheart neckline, tight fitted yet breathable bodice, and manageable thick tulle skirts starting at my natural waistline. I liked the last over the fourth, the lace detailing wrapped around my arms and collarbones asymmetrically and reminded me of a river's current.

"The last one shall do nicely. Have you received the spine from the blacksmith?"

Confused from the question, I turned to Rhaegar. "Why would a blacksmith be making the spine to a dress?"

"You're a Targaryen, if there's not going to be flames or scales on your wedding gown, there might as well be a dragon crawling up your back." 

Now that'll be a dress no one forgets.


	16. Familiar Faces, Different Places

The air was thick; filled with incense, the smell of flesh, and the sound of distant and nearby moans of strangers. The brothel was shrouded by curtained windows, you could lose track of the daylight in places like these.

Manfrey wasn't a man to judge, he'd just prefer to do business elsewhere. "I hope I'm not interrupting,"

At the sound of his voice the whores scattered knowing that their client would no longer be needing them.

"Yet, you interrupt all the same." Oberyn grumbled, pushing himself up on the pillow cushions strewn about the bed. Manfrey couldn't help but notice his cousin eyeing a blond man's retreating form.

"Please tell me that we're leaving soon. I don't like being away from the girls so long, and this place bores me." Ellaria announced, readjusting the thin silk of her dress.

"Spending your days in a brothel bores you?" he quizzed, though the question was entirely rhetorical. Manfrey wondered how anyone could keep up with her; their commitment to each other in the face of their open door policy had always confused him. "I do bring news-"

"You wouldn't have come all the way here if you didn't. I never will understand your discomfort of brothels." the younger of the men quipped, popping a grape from the long forgotten tray into his mouth. "Do tell, what word have you brought from the Keep?"

Oberyn's mood had been filled with snark and venom before they had even reached the gates of the city, Manfrey had hoped he had better hid his ill feelings by now. He had also hoped his cousin would have put in more of an effort with the Princess he was to marry, but he had long ago learned that Oberyn rarely does what you hope him to.

"Perhaps if you had set foot in the castle and been a part of the meetings you were supposed to attend, you wouldn't need me to play messenger. But alas, the costume fits." Oberyn only shrugged half-heartedly at Manfrey's irritation. "The bargain is struck and we've finally agreed on terms, all that's needed is to procure them."

"Procure what?" Ellaria asked before adding, "an _actual_ olive branch?"

The woman scoffed at the perceived audacity of the crown to ask something of _them_. She hated the capital, the stench of it, the food, the politics. Most of all she hated that Doran had sent them here. A marriage alliance needed to be made, but why did it have to be her Oberyn? Why not Quentyn, was Doran's son too good to offer up like this? Why did they have to destroy _her_ life; ruin all that she had worked so hard for.

Ignoring her, Manfrey continued to explain the details of their new peace, "Our end of the deal is completed by your marriage to the Princess Syrana and the withdrawal of our militia men from the outskirts of the Marshes, theirs is more... _complicated_."

"Why would I ever need to attend any of those _meetings_ , when you can tell me everything just as drawn out?" he sighed, rolling out of the bed and tossing a silk shawl over his shoulders. "What's so complicated? What were Doran's terms?"

"We have a standing seet on the small council, Elia's death gets a proper investigation, and the line of succession follows Dornish law. Those were the terms that were accepted anyway."

"Why would the line of succession be of any importance?" Ellaria inquired only half interested as she continued to recline on the large cushioned bed, sipping wine out of a goblet.

"Doran has out done himself," Oberyn's smile was full of agitation. He knew exactly why the line of succession was important. Of course his older brother had left out the details before sending him to this place. "Marrying this girl for show was one thing-"

"Children are expected of all marriages, they're _required_ of political ones. The King wants his line to live on in any case." he reminded his cousin, weary of how quickly the younger man could become a caged tiger; Elaria already throwing daggers with her stare.

"Perhaps our _good king_ should have thought of that before giving that Stark girl a crown of winter roses." Oberyn snarled, reaching for his own cup of wine. "How long?"

"11 days before the wedding, the gift giving will be the day before. Though with how quickly the guests have arrived and seeing that the preparations are nearly complete, the date may be moved up. I would hope you try to get to know her in the meantime."

"And _why_ would he do that?" Ellaria hummed from her spot on the bed, "She's made no effort to 'get to know' us, I've never even met the girl."

Ellaria Sand had been an antagonising presence to the Martell household long before she'd been deemed the Snake Maker. It was after Elia's murder that she had appeared in Sunspear along with her father, the Lord of Hellholt. The only reason most tolerate her is because of the way she's brought out a calm to Oberyn and feasible happiness to the man who'd be on an enraged war path since the Sack of King's Landing. Many in Dorne doubt her intentions and Manfry is hesitantly one of them. He has no doubt that her distaste is entirely due to the fact that it isn't she whom Oberyn marries and that her standings within the ruling house of Dorne may not be on solid ground.

"I'd highly doubt the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms would be allowed anywhere near a brothel. And besides you're not the one she'll be wedded to." he rebutled, turning his attention back to Oberyn and offering a final word before making his departure. " I would remind you that the safety and security of our home depends upon you putting in an effort. At least make an appearance before the ceremony."

**_~'~_ **

After an unfortunate runin with the ever _pleasant_ Theon, who of course chided me about my title, I had learned that a friend of ours was also staying in the city. Another one of the delights of being a bastard was that no one cared about the company you kept, meaning that hanging out with Winterfell's best paid whore was not a problem.

I loved Ros dearly, she was the only girl friend I had. Everything I couldn't do or talk about with Patrek or Jon or Robb, I had Ros for. Anything that a woman should know, but a mother wouldn't tell you. She was brutally honest and unreasonably funny, and Winterfell hadn't been the same since she left.

Theon had told me that she'd landed employment in Lord Baelish's establishment, one of the top two brothels in King's Landing if not the country. While proud, he'd complained that now he couldn't afford her.

I decided to pay her a visit. Sneaking past the guards and the influx of nobles wasn't easy, and I had to wait for one of the few hours Ser Barristan wasn't posted to my person.

I snuck out of the keep with a hooded cloak on and made my way to the Street of Silks. The brothel was unmistakable, it was probably one of the biggest buildings on this street, and it was the only one with every window covered in curtains and tapestries. I requested her by name and after payment the procurer led me to her private room.

"Let me know if you'll be needing anything else," The tall, leanly built blond spoke just as he was leaving the room. From the hickeys and loosely tied robe, I could tell that he'd either just been paid for himself or was currently in the midst of a client.

"You lot really take all kinds here don't you?" I asked her cheekily as I removed my hood.

"The Royal Princess Syrana has just paid for _me_? Of all the whores in King's Landing? I think I'll throw a _parade_." she feigned ecstaticness before pulling me into a hug. "I was waiting for you to come see me, what took ya so long?"

"For one I had no idea you were here, for another sneaking out of castles you don't quite know your way around is hard." I sighed exaggeratedly as we both took seats opposite the other on the silken bed. "Also, Theon is right, you've gotten pricey."

"You're royalty, you can afford it." she smirked. "Heard you're getting married and moving south?"

"You always did get right to the point. Yeah," I sighed, fiddling with the ends of my hair. "I am. I barely know the guy, but it's happening. At least I know it won't be long lived though; I'll definitely _melt_ before I reach Dorne."

"Don't count yourself out so quick-"

"Oh, _please_ don't say anything about me being a Targaryen and how dragons can't die from heat, or whatever. I'm tired of the indoctrination." I grumbled, throwing myself completely unto the bed, starring holes into the ceiling.

"Oh, fuck _that_ shit. I was going to say how he's a frequent here, and well we all talk, if you don't enjoy being married to him, you'll _definitely_ enjoy shagging him." she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

I couldn't hold in my laughter at that one, Gods I missed her. " 'Personality unknown, but the sex is great' Saint Ros the positivaty you never knew you needed."

Once our giggling had died down, "So, what I miss? Before all this, obviously. Did Jon finally manage to pop your cherry? Or was it Patrek?" she asked, leaning over me using her elbow and wrist to support her.

"Ros! ... First of all neither. Jon's decided he wants to take the black and Patrek doesn't even think of me like that."

"He definitely does, trust me I can tell when someone wants to fuck you. Its like its my _job_ or something-"

"You don't have to be a bitch about it; you get around, we know." I drew out the last syllable for exaggerations sake.

"Shut up." she chuckled. "But seriously, which one did you end up on? You had them all going there for a second." Ros had always loved that she could get to hear all the gossip while never having to deal with it or be involved in it.

"I don't think two counts as _all_ of them. And I didn't end up with any of them, if that's what you mean." The way Ros put it I sounded like quite the whore myself.

"You're oblivious, it wasn't just Jon and Patrek vying for your attention. I mean Theon occasionally mentioned wanting to bed you, but he says that about everything with tits. Robb, on the other hand, gave you up to not ruin his relationship with Jon."

"You're lying. Robb... _never_. He liked ladies, _proper_ Ladies in dresses with grace and etiquette, not me."

"He followed you around like a lost puppy for the three moons you were there that year when they were thirteen. There was definitely something there." Ros could always see relationships a little more clearly than I could, as if she knew exactly what kind of dynamic two people would make before they've ever even met.

"Oh yeah, I remember that. I'd had just flowered and Brynden had no idea what to do with that, so he shipped me off to Cat."

"And probably hoped you didn't come back pregnant." she added, earning a light smack to her arm from me before the two of us ended up laughing about it. "I nearly forgot the most _important_ member of your fan club," she gestured to herself.

"By all the Gods, you make me sound like an enchantress, some siren casting love spells."

"I'm only kidding... between us, out of everyone I've ever kissed, you always had the best technique." she finished with a wink.

I faked shock and gave her arm another light smack before the two of us fell into belly laughs, Ros leaning on me more as she tried to catch her breath.

"Oh get over yourself, you know you love me." she sighed dramatically, rolling over onto her back and laying her head on my stomach. "Northerners really are shit at kissing-"

Ros was cut off by the sound of a man screaming, both of us jumping to our feet at the sound.

"The hell was that? Y'all don't do torture stuff do you?" I asked, turning to the just as confused red head.

"Not that I would know of," she answered, brows scrunched in confusion as she followed my lead to investigate what had happened.

"-might be... trouble."

It was coming from the open room adjacent to us. Seeing two gold cloaks at the end of the hall, I pulled my hood back up, not really wanting to be noticed in a brothel.

"That's Tyrion Lannister,"

I shot Ros a questioning look, I lived in the castle and I couldn't have recognised his voice that easy.

And in response to the question I didn't ask, "He's a customer, talks a lot."

We watched two lannister men scurry off towards the door, presumably having been part of the commotion, seeing one of them hold his wrists tightly to his chests as they rushed out of the brothel.

And then it was quiet for a moment. Ros stayed back at the door to our private room, watching out as I crept forward.

She had been right of course. Looking through the curtained entryway I could see the unmistakable frame of the infamous imp. Standing next to him was a hired arm of some sort, I recognised the black armour as similar to that of sellswords frequenting the Riverlands and the Vale as of recent. The procurer stood directly in front of the doorway, on the other side of the curtains, just close enough that I had to be weary of my steps.

Getting the right angle so I could look over the blond's shoulder, who Ros said is named Olyvar, who else would it be but Oberyn Martell taking center stage. I had come here to see an old friend and momentarily forget about my soon to be husband, and here he was rather entangled with his paramour I assume.

"I've come on the King's business." the little lion tried to draw their attention.

The woman, Ellaria I believe, pulled away having obviously registered the feeling of discomfort growing from their audience. Oberyn started introductions, the two weaving around each other like snakes the entire conversation. It seemed their nicknames were well deserved.

"Ellaria Sand, my paramour." he paused turning to the rest of the room, gesturing to the much shorter man. "The King's own messenger Imp. Tyrion, son of Tywin _Lannister_."

With a small nod of indignation, "I've been sent to escort and inform you, the King wishes to speak with you urgently-"

"What are you? His hired killer?" the Prince focused on the sellsword, paying no mind to Tyrion or his objective.

"It started that way, aye. Now I'm a knight." the sellsword gone knight responded, his voice far less abrasive than those I've heard before.

"How did that come to pass?" both Ellaria and Oberyn showing their interest in the man.

With a light shrug and a tilt of the head, "Killed the right people, I suppose."

The non-chalantness of the statement earned a laugh from the dornishman, Tyrion hesitant to join in. Tyhe sellsword's attitude reminded me of common folk and the taverns back home; drunk stories of swashbucklers and raiders.

"We'll need more girls, yes?"

And with that directive, Olyvar made his exit and immediately turned into me. Luckily, I had the forewithall to pull myself behind the wooden walls and away from the curtained door frame, out of sight. I could hear the conversation continue on inside the room as Olvar looked down at me in confusion.

"What are you-"

I could vaguely see the sellswords head and attention drift out towards us just as Ros very loudly intervened.

"Olyvar, what is this commotion? It's disturbing our clients. There was shouting, a man was bleeding, and there are gold cloaks... Are we being arrested? Is this a raid? Petyr would never-"

Quickly pulling myself behind Ros and back into the doorway of her private room, I continued to watch from my now safer viewpoint.

"Ros, calm down. There was a... disagreement, it's been handled-" he got out before being interrupted again.

The group that had previously occupied the open room now stepped out, Oberyn apparently having heard Ros and Olyvar.

"My apologies for the disturbance," he addressed her. His eyes ran over my face from behind her shoulder, I was certain he had recognised me despite my hooded hair and yet he kept on as if he'd seen nothing. "I suppose we'll have to continue another time; I'm being summoned. Keep Ellaria entertained, yes?"

Olyvar gave a nod and directed the dornish woman back to whatever room they had come from in the first. Oberyn glancing back towards Ros and I with a smirk before asking the dwarf, "Are we to pick up the Princess then?"

"Ser Barristan Selmy was sent out to retrieve her, why would-"

I knew why. I whispered a quick 'close the door' to Ros before slinking back further into the room. Hiding from your problems and responsibilities is not good, but I'm doing it anyways.

"Why bother? The Princess is here." Oberyn answered, turning his head to face the two watching him in confusion.

"I beg your pardon? To slander a royal-" disbelief evident in Tyrion's voice, his brows furrowed. The poor man being used as an errand boy was clearly just trying to get them back to the Keep, but Oberyn was standing firm, rooted in the hall in front of our door.

"She's hiding behind that lovely redhead, no doubt not wanting to be found in a brothel." I could hear the smirk without seeing it.

Ros turned to me, our eyes speaking a collective 'fuck'. She paid them no mind, nonchalantly closing the door. She centered herself in front of me again, mischief and humor alight in her eyes.

"Should I take offense if my betrothed hides from me?" I heard Oberyn chuckle from outside, his voice and footfalls drawing nearer.

"Well, if you're going to get caught, might as well make it interesting." Ros mumbled, pulling down the hood of my cloak.

Before I even had a chance to shake my head, Ros had already coiled herself around me, the two of us entering into one of our rehearsed make-outs that we had used to use to drive Theon up a wall.

Interesting, indeed. Oberyn had smoothly opened the door and easily barred the other two men from the view; Ros's hand toying with my breasts while the other held the nape of my neck, my hand holding her jaw with the other cheekily giving her bum a squeeze, and our tongues in each other's mouths.

"Now this, I did not expect," Oberyn's accent was like silk and his tone was lower, huskier than before.

Ros broke away from me, her cheeks heated as she winked and mouthed 'give 'em hell' before turning outright towards the intruder. "This is a pirate room, sir, you can't just barge in."

"The Princess is requested by her father, and who better than her husband to see her in such a... light?" he answered her as his eyes trailed over me and his coy smirk never faltered.

Trying to break from his gaze, I turned to Ros, "You'll have to do house calls." She smirked at me as we untangled ourselves, her straightening out the bust of my dress for me. "You never saw this," I shot at my betrothed knowing full well he was the sole point of the display, an attempt to add intrigue on my part.

"I don't think I want to unsee it." he stated, looking down at me through slightly hooded eyes. He was quick to wrap an arm around my waist as I slid past him and out the door frame, him pulling me slightly into him as he guided the two of us out of the brothel where Tyrion and the guards were waiting.

Seeing Tyrion and his sellsword visibly confused, and knowing I didn't want to answer any questions, "We can't keep the King waiting, now can we?"


	17. Traditions

I had been waiting for him to say something; with his cocky smirk and the sly looks he’d been sending me the whole way back to the keep, something was brewing. The image of Ros and I entangled was something that his whore mind couldn't get over. I knew that that was Ros’ whole point for starting the display, to keep his focus on me, but I’m not sure I like the way he's looking at me.

I’ve obviously been looked at sexually before, by pikemen in taverns and by various different knights or nobles in the Riverlands or the North. But this is somehow different. None of those drunkards had a reputation for debauchery and most of the ‘knights and nobles’ had been friends, boys I’d grown up around. Or at the least men who held some respect or maybe even fear for Byrnden; men who wouldn't want to risk his judgement, thoughts without actions.

He was certifiably experienced and my body count was nonexistent; compared to flirting with Patrek, Robb, Theon, or Jon it was the difference between sparring swords and bringing a knife to a dragon fight. And it was drastically evident that he cared not for people’s opinions of him; it seemed he welcomed the rumours.

“Perhaps northerns are not as prudish as I would have thought,” Oberyn mused, smirking as he alluded to Ros and I’s kiss. He had only brought it up now that we were back in the keep, alone and waiting for the King to join us in the small council room.

“Your opinion on northerners is probably biased. Have you ever even been north of King’s Landing?” I choose to shift the topic; Ros always said it's best to keep them curious. I also didn't want my inexperience to show. If I was going to have some sort of a relationship with this man, I couldn’t be looked at as inferior and I certainly have to hide my maidenhood.

“I would have if I had known-”

He was cut off by the sound of the side doors opening and a rather tired looking Rhaegar entering. I had only taken comfort seeing Eddard follow him in. With the four of us present, the guards had shut the doors.

“I didn’t know you would want witnesses to continue our previous conversation.” I furrowed my brows, not understanding what Oberyn meant as he slouched in his chair, looking seconds away from kicking his feet up on the table.

“ _ That _ will have to wait for another day, and I’m sure we’ll have  _ many  _ opportunities to do so. I’ve asked you both here to discuss the wedding.” Rhaegar spoke from his spot at the head of the table, having thrown a loaded look towards the Prince of Dorne.

“Unless plans have changed and there is no longer an agreement between Dorne and yourself, all of the particulars are to go through Manfrey, as they have been. I do not care for the details, nor these meetings.” Oberyn answered bored, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

Rhaegar seemed not entirely surprised by the uncouthness of his response, though there was an air of edge as he spoke. “I think that this does concern you. Eddard and the rest of the council have done well, and the preparations have been completed far ahead of schedule. All the guests are here, and many of my nobles don't want to be away from their respective keeps for an extended stay.”

“If only the council was this organized when it came to justice.” Oberyn quipped, still bored and seemingly irritated despite getting his own dig in. “If the nobles are concerned, perhaps hearing from their king would calm them.”

I understood what Rhaegar was hinting at, it was made even clearer when I locked eyes with Ned and he gave me nothing but a sympathetic smile.  _ Less time, and even more fleeting freedom. _

“The council has decided to grant the wishes of the many nobles at court. Also gaining further blessings for the union in the Faith by having it take place on the seventh day of this sennenight.” Ned announced, trying to detach himself from the words as much as possible. Being the Hand was far harder than he had thought; he was too honest and the people to… different.

“That's… five days from now.” I could feel Oberyn’s eyes slide over me, attempting to gauge what kind of reaction I was having. I wouldn’t show anything, but five days? Thats not nearly enough time to get to know someone enough to share a bed, let alone be tied to for the rest of my life. “What if I don’t want to be married in the Faith of the Seven?”

“You expect the High Sparrow and the church to condone and accept a member of the royal family breaking from sacred traditions?” Rhaegar stared me down, how inconceivable of me to have my own opinion.

“No, I expect  _ you  _ to value me as a person. If you're going to have me married for your own political gains, at least respect my religion. I want a northern wedding.”

I could see that Rhaegar was about to object, shaking his head as he was stringing together his response. But Oberyn spoke before anyone else had the chance to.

“I did not know you worshiped the Old Gods; what does a northern wedding entail?”

“The ceremony is far shorter. The groom awaits his betrothed in a godswoods, not a sept. They accept each other in the eyes of a heart tree, the symbol of our gods instead of some holy man. The two join hands and take a silent prayer to the old ones, then cloaks are exchanged and you'd carry her off to the feast.” Ned explained, proud that I had spoken up.

I was shocked that Oberyn was curious. And he seemed actually interested while he listened to Eddard explain the northern custom.

He turned his attention back to me, “I fear I would be a poor husband if I was to ignore your request. There is a weirwood in the godswood here, yes?”

“Yes,” I answered with a quirk in my brow; I had never taken Oberyn to be a man of compromise or consideration. “It's not much of a heart tree, whatever face was carved was long ago chopped down, but I still pray to it when I have the chance. What are you suggesting?” I needed to know if he was serious or if this was just some joke.

“Before the official ceremony, I’ll pray with you to your gods.” a rather charming half smile spread across his face, one that I somewhat returned.

Perhaps I should rethink my judgments on him, maybe I should give him a chance.

“If you must partake in the old, uncivilised ways do it on your own time. I won’t have  _ either _ of you late to your own wedding.” Rhaegar stated, irritated though glad that the two had made a compromise on their own. “On a related matter, seeing as Syrana is my only living child and that there are no keeps held by yourself, Oberyn; after you settle your affairs in Dorne, I grant you the title of Prince Aparent of Dragonstone, where the two of you will build your household.”

Whatever smile had graced his lips had drained instantly. Oberyn’s eyes darkened as they fixated on Rhaegar once again. The mood of the room having drifted far from the hopeful gleam it had seconds ago.

“Where my sister bore your children, where you left her to be dealt with by your father? No, I don't think I want to be haunted any further by  _ your  _ sins.” thus returning the Oberyn Martell everyone talked about. The bold, angery, heated, and vengeful side of him that earned him a monacer.

Trying to honor the kindness he had just shown me I offer, “I have no issue residing in Sunspear or the Water Gardens, I don't much care if we have our own castle.” I’m not sure Oberyn was aware that I had spoken, he just sat there menacing Rhaegar. If looks could kill the Red Viper’s was so piercing that he had taken Rhaegar back to the Red Fork and watched as Robert’s blow connected, the warhammer burying into his chest.

Rhaegar only glared back, standing firm on his choice. “The eldest of the King’s children hold Dragonstone. And seeing as Syrana is my only living child, that keep is hers. And with my gift of her hand in marriage, granting you admittance into the royal house, I supersede your wishes. Any grandchild of mine will be born in the Crownlands, close to home where I can protect them.”

All me or Eddard could do was watch their pissing contest, though Ned did at least try to get the two to move on. “Perhaps we could drop the issue for now? Let cooler heads prevail, Your Grace.”

“ _ Protection _ ? Is that what you call abandonment? Perhaps you should have thought of your eldest children when you chose a girl over your wife. These will be  _ my _ children first; and I know I’ll want better protection for them then what you provided for your own.”

It might have been a bad idea but I decided to once again insert myself in their argument, this time more forcefully. “If we’re going to bring up the safety of  _ our _ potential children, might I have a say?”

“You're not raising royalty at the Inn on the Crossroads.” Rhaegar shot back, quick to seize my chance at broadening or worsening the two mens glaring contest. I guess I’m just always going to be some swamp rat to him then.

But unfortunately for him I was raised around knights and pikemen, taught by Brynden Tully to never take anyone’s shit no matter their stature. “I wasn’t raised in an inn, despite your constant assumption. What I was going to say was the only voices that have any standing in the lives of whatever children I may have are my own and their father’s, and that is that.” From the corner of my eye I could see the slight twitch of a smirk, potentially a grin, elusively grow on Oberyn’s face before melting into an unreadable blank stare. Perhaps my forewordness had eased his anger slightly. “While you're letting me speak, Oberyn has successfully reared eight children; the only child you have is me and you didn't raise me. So forgive me if I put stock in his advice over yours.” I felt the brief heat of his eyes fan my face once more; I’m starting to like this feeling.

Taking a lesson from one of the knights that was under Brynden’s command at the Bloody Gate:  _ ‘If you have something important to say in a room full of people that you know aren’t going to like what you say; speak your truth and then leave.’ _ . Seeing as I was irritated by their bickering and full well knowing there was nothing I could do to stop the two men from clashing, I did exactly what Ser Tarren of the Sisters advised: I left.

Standing from my chair, “Now if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I have previous engagements I must attend. I’m sure whatever other concerns you may have can be handled with as much ease and intuition as you fine men are doing currently.” And with that I made a swift exit towards the doors before anyone else could get a word in to stop me.

Though as I pulled open the doors to my reales from this stuffy and heated room I heard two things: Oberyn asking with some interest ‘Who  _ did  _ raise her?’ and the unmistakable sound of a stifled laugh from the Quiet Wolf.

**~`~**

_ Previous engagements _ , maybe that was a stretch, but I did have plans. And good ones at that.

The shit eating grin hadn’t left my face since I’d remembered those plans and made a hurry off to my apartments. I was in no appropriate attire for such plans. I was near giddy kicking off the dainty shoes that made clicks along the floor as I walked. I tried my best not to tear the dress as I pulled at its laces, my arms straining slightly. 

Pulling on the familiar warmth of trousers and hurriedly throwing a tunic over my head, I thanked any and all gods that may be that none had found or discarded the leathers I had buried in my trunks.

Now I was dressed for a good spare. 

I couldn’t meet the boys fast enough. It had been away since we’d fought each other like this and it was never both groups. When I was in Winterfell, and no one could tell us otherwise, Jon, Robb, Theon, and I would have a group spare. I brought said activity back with me to Riverrun and Seagard, where I'd spare with Patrek and Edmure and their friends (those willing to, of course). 

And now that Edmure had arrived… the game was on.

We’d picked one of the courtyards that was less used to meet in, it was probably a sparring ground for the gold cloaks now that I think of it.

I was quick to tie my hair up as I rounded the corner, thrilled to give my sword arm some use.

“Your Highness! So pleased you could join us!” 

Rolling my eyes at his sarcasm, I made my way down the stairs to our fighting pit for the evening. “You've got to bend more with your knees if you want to pull off that curtsey, dumbass.” I threw back at my favorite red-headed idiot.

“I thought it was convincing,” Robb shrugged, coming to Patrek’s aid.

“So the whole gang's here,” I smiled having caught a glance at Arya and Bran watching from the sidelines. “And you've brought an audience”

“I won’t be an ‘audience’ much longer, I’m going to be fighting too” Arya called quickly to stake her claim.

Getting straight to the point, “We’ll have to adjust the rules, there’s a few more of us then usual. Let's say teams until two of us are out?” 

“Two?”

“Edmure, I was going to say three,”

“What if it's three to one?” both Patrek and Theon conceded to my point.

“So how are we doing teams?” Jon questions, looking between the six of us.

“Well, we can’t do the seven versus the old gods because Theon’s here and we can’t do the north versus the south because… Theon’s here.” Patrek jests, quite pleased with himself and his dig.

“Fuck off, fish boy.”

“You're sigil is literally a kraken… you worship the sea. I’m pretty sure ‘fish boy’ is you…. If anything I'm a fish man.” Pat retorted mumbling to himself.

“Anyways,” I chuckled a little, “I'm thinking… bastards versus...  _ pretty boys _ .”

“So everyone against Jon? That'll be easy” Theon smirked.

“I’m entirely sure Syranna is counting herself as a bastard, though I’m not sure that's a fair fight.”

“I might be legitimized but I’ll always be a bastard. And of course it’s fair Edmure, it’s you, Robb, and Pat against us three.”

“I am  _ not  _ a bastard!”

“Well, you certainly aren’t pretty.” I reason.

“And you're dad did give you away…..” Pat quickly threw in.

“Save the smack talk for the field, gentlemen. We haven't even set ground rules or picked our weapons.” Edmure cut in.

“So, we’re all going to ignore Theon calling Rana a boy?” Robb asked himself apparently, seeing as no one paid his comment any mind.

“Same rules as always, right? One shield, if you want it, any deadly blow and your out.” Jon piped up already eying the pile of various swords and weaponry that I’m sure one of them thieved.

“Course,” I shrugged in agreement. “Though we have to use swords as dull as Edmure’s game; we can’t all show up with cuts, we’ll be found out.”

“Harming royalty is a crime, boys, the princess is  _ delicate _ .” Patrek stated, earning him a smack up the back of his head.

“My... game isn’t... dull” Edmure muttered whilst the rest of us were arming up. His defense earned him a chorus of half-assed ‘sure’s and even a ‘no, never’.

Jon, Robb, Edmure, and Theon all going for longswords, Patrek opting for a scimitar and the dirk he always had on his belt, leaving me to grab two shortswords.

“Show off” I heard Robb mutter.

Taking my spot in between Jon and Theon, “Alright boys, shall we start this?” I asked, watching as Edmure adjusted his hold over the crude shield he’d picked. Apparently only himself and Jon had chosen to use shields.

Our little lines traded insults to each other, most of us having already picked their first target. Before anyone got to land the first strike, we were interrupted by a hearty chuckle.

“So this is what you idiots are doing?” Brynden called out from the top of the stairs as he made his way down. The chuckle belonged to Ser Jason, Patrek’s father who wasn’t far behind the Blackfish.

“You can’t have baby Starks as your only audience; who's going to start the bets?” Jason added motioning to the bench where Arya and Bran were perched. “Their mother is going to come looking for her pups, you might as well put on a show for Lady Catelyn, too.”

“Why would you take bets when there are only two of you?” I chided, willingly diving back into the banter that had filled his halls at Seagard.

“For now. There’s only two of us now. Like I said Catelyn is going to come looking for her children, which means that Eddard and Ser Rodrik won’t be far behind. Not to mention the other Riverlords will come looking for our liege Lords.” Jason reasoned, sending a humoured look towards Edmure before partaking in some unspoken joke with Brynden.

“Oh, I assure you when men here there's a fight, they'll come running. And I’ll get the joy of watching all five of you get taken down by the Princess.” Brynden smirked, leaning against the railing of the stairs back towards the palace.

“How do you know she’ll win?” Edmure asked, curious but not nearly as outraged as Theon was at such an opinion.

“Because we raised her,” Jason shrugged, though the prideful half smile only grew on his face. “Now quit this yammering and start wacking each other with glorified sticks.”

“You heard the man,” Patrek smirked as we re-focussed our attention back on each other. Each side reaffirming their grip and straightening their stance. Patrek looked me dead in the eye as he cracked his neck, “I’m coming for ya first, tadpole.”

Rotating my right wrist so my sword spun while quickly flipping the other sword so the blade was pointed backwards and parallel with my arm, I smirked at the challenge. “Not if I get there first, bird boy.”

And then it started. I could vaguely see in my peripherals that Robb had gone after Jon as usual, but that was as much as I could keep up with at the moment.

Patrek charged at me, trying hard to nail me with a heavy downward strike as we crossed the team lines. I had just about slid out from under it, barely having enough time to give a backhanded block towards his next blow.

“Only on the defense, huh? Rusty are we, minnow?”

“Maybe that's what I want you to think” I answered, trying to keep my distance from whatever poorly conceived plan Theon had that kept him almost knocking into me. 

I could hear the smacks as Robb’s aggressive blows hit Jon’s shield, and I used Patrik’s momentary curiosity to my advantage.

Just as I had almost connected the slash, to the tune of Arya shouting ‘Jon, hit back’, Theon came barrelling through, quickly losing ground to Edmure who was hot on his tails.

Growling as the idiot greyjoy knocked me off to the side, making me lose ground with Patrik. Squaring my shoulders, I took note of Patrik going off to help the other fiery haired lordling take down Jon. I also noticed Edmure thinking he’d won, backing Theon into a corner.

Just as he’d gone to block one of Theon’s more heartier blows, lurked up from behind and gave my cousin a friendly poke to his spinal column. “You never do watch your back,”

Edmure just sighed, dropping his shield, “and you always take advantage of it.” he stalked off to join the now slowly growing crowd. I quickly glanced and saw that Jason and Brynden were both right; Ned had made an appearance, his jovial expression far different from Catelyn’s concerned and almost irritated look.

“I didn’t  _ need  _ your help.”

“Yet, there you were backed into a corner like always Theon.” he scoffed ready to reply with something snide as we made our way back to the other three. “But hey, at least you were out first this time.”

Yet again Theon was cut off, this time Robb had broken away from Jon, swiftly Theon and striking a blow. As the two pushed against each other's wooden swords, Robb spat out a quip as I went to help Jon fend off Patrik. “If you two  _ ladies _ are done chatting,”

Ignoring his comment completely instead choosing to antagonize patrik on my approach, rolling my wrist around remembering how arya used to love the ‘twirly sword thing’, “Patrik, have you ever thought of picking on someone your own size?”

I jumped in to give Jon a break.

“I have actually, but the Great Jon said he doesn't do spares, so I've obviously had to settle for the smallest Jon.”

He kicked my leg out from under me, knocking me off balance and to my knees. As I was stabilising myself, Patrik fakes a doward blow with his dirk while bringing his true blow in from the side, an attempt to decapite. 

I have just enough speed to block it with my left sword. Pushing to stand back up while locking his scimitar in between both my swortswords. “That was good, you almost got me there”

“Thanks, I do try”

The two of us pushing back on one another to gain dominance and the upper hand. I’ve just about angled my pushes right, and forced him back a step or two when, 

“This is rigged! I never win, you're all way too whipped to actually fight her. I don't know why I’m friends with any of you!”

“Well, there goes Theon,”

We’ve broken apart by now, Patrik and I returning to our familiar dance of striking and blocking, our movements so rehearsed it was done without thinking.

“It's every man now. You worried about Robb pulling a fast one?” He blocked my right sword mid swing.

“Never, I can take that boy in his sleep. You think loverboy is finally gonna come at you?” I lock swords with him again, this time pushing the tip of his own blade dangerously close to his nose before he breaks off.

“C’mon, Jon’s a puppy. A sad puppy, but still a puppy.” I duck under his next swing.

“The boy is rather glum”

Speak of the Stranger and he’ll soon appear. Pat and I quickly break from each other, seeing both Starks come barreling towards us. Robb and I immediately exchange blows while from the corner of my eye I can briefly see Pat and Jon playing cat and mouse.

“You took out Edmure from the gate; you couldn't give the old man a break?”

“Robb, you know he always leaves his blind side open during these on purpose, right?”

“Maybe Theon actually has a point for once,”

“Oh, shut up” while blocking his sword with my left, the sword pinned to the back of my forearm, I nab the quick chance to swipe a low blow towards his shins. As he jerks and stumbles at the hard hit, I quickly punch his wrist with the butt of my sword, disarming him. After kicking out his good leg for good measure; I’ve got him dead to rights, the tip of the dull blade tucked nicely to his jugular. 

Robb being the good sport that he is, just sits there, sweat trailing down his cheekbones, shoulders slumped as he’s leaning on his elbows, and smiles proudly at me.

“I would’ve had you, if you weren't dual wielding” he says pointedly, though the joking nature shows through.

“That's the point” smiling as I extend my hand to pull him up.

“Ser Rodrik is going to drill me in training later,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders as he reaches the growing crowd of onlookers.

I don't get the chance to count faces as Pat and Jon block my view. “Really? I thought you would have taken him out already, Pat” the three of us just eyeing each other up, trying to see who would make the first move.

The man in question just shrugged.

“Gee, thanks for the confidence”

“Hey, if you didn’t have a shield earlier, Robb would’ve had you.”

“He does hit heavy… and fast” Pat added

“Screw both of you” the brood quickly returned.

“I mean, … if that was an option…”

Paying no mind to Pat’s sly comment or the wiggling of his eyebrows, “Alright boys, lets dance”

As if on cue, Pat charges me again. At the last moment he pivots towards Jon, landing a quick smack to his left arm.

Jon moves towards him in retaliation to the sting, but I cut him off with an upward swing from my right hand. He easily parries it, a good distraction for Patrik to join back in. the three of us exchanging blows and parries, both giving and taking land from each other.

I could tell my wrists were going to be sore with how much crossing I had to do; striking right with my left and blocking left with my right.

Getting a little tired of this unending dance we’re in, I push harder on my next block, destabilizing Jon, using that breather to kick Pat back. I did a quick spin to gauge how time I had to pin down Patrik before Jon was on my heels. 

Oh how I missed this.

I stuck my landing before either had the chance to get back on their feet. My backhand grip angling my shortsword right under Pat’s jaw as he huffed.

“You got me this time, minnow”

I could see him throw up his hands in defeat through the corner of my eye as I had turned my head towards Jon’s approach, my left wrist already flexing in anticipation.

My best spars have always been with Pat or Jon, we know each other's rhythms so well.

Jon slowly side-stepped towards me, sword outstretched and ready for a clean swing, the two of us beginning to circle each other.

“What is the meaning of this?” All eyes snapped to the terrace of the fighting pit to find the source of the distraction, only to be met with white cloaks and a rather peeved King. “Eddard, I would have expected you to keep your boys on better behaviour. I would have hoped you wouldn’t bring northern barberism south with you.”

Most of the crowd had started to clear out now, seeing as their King was displeased with the pastime.

“ ‘ Barberism’? We’re just sparring.” I wished I could say more, defend the north. I already knew I was on thin ice with him today, but he shouldn’t slight the north just for his ideals.

I caught Eddard’s eye and from the looks of things, he was already trying to talk me down from that clif. He was most likely formulating some noble response.

“They used to spar like this when they were younger, it's just a game they had as children, Your Grace.” Ned, ever the man of peace.

I don't know how long he had watched, or how I hadn’t noticed before, but stood laxly on the opposite side of the terrace was Oberyn. He seemed to be exchanging comments with some of the party that had left Dorne with him, though his eyes seemed to never leave me.

I was drawn back by Rhaegar’s words.

“Well, they aren’t children now, are they? Syrana is a woman grown, a Princess, for the Seven’s sake! She should know better, you should know better. Royals do not partake in ‘games’, nor will  _ my _ daughter be battered and bruised for sport. She is not some common nameless bastard running around the northern countries living in taverns, not anymore.”

I moved towards the stairs, wanting to give my own barbs to his face. The look on Bryden’s face told me otherwise; stand down.

Rhaegar dragged his intense gaze from Eddard who only stood stiffly, head slightly lowered from the lashing, to me. Disappointment read clear across his face, “Get yourself cleaned up, I expect you at dinner.” With that he left in a huff, grumbling to himself.

“Why did you let him call you barbaric?” By now it was only Eddard, Brynden, myself, and oddly enough the small group of Dornish standing in the opposite corner.

“You’ve got to learn when to pick your battles, little one. And right now ain’t the time to pick fights over words.” Brynden muttered. “You’re getting better, you took out Patrik by yourself this time.” I could only assume his eyes were telling me he was proud as he gave me a small smile, making his way up the stairs and presumably back towards his rooms. 

Eddard and himself exchanging an unspoken concern on his way out.

“You can’t let him talk to you like that. He’ll walk all over you, like you're a rug.”

Ned pulled a tight smile, “I can handle myself Rana, it’s you I worry about.”

“Well, don’t”

He chuckled. “I don’t think that’s possible.” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze, “I’ve got to go and make sure we haven’t upset Rhaegar too much. Now, do me a favour and not make any more messes… without telling me first.”

Keeping a smile to myself as I take the long way back to my chambers, I can lightly hear some of the Dornish in passing.

“So, she  _ can _ fight,” Oberyn spoke with interest.

An auburn haired woman spoke in boredom to who I assumed to be either of Oberyn’s daughters or his niece, Arianne. Though I didn't recognise the woman herself. “And it appears the northerns only get off on being such brutes.”


End file.
